Backroom Deal
by Lovie247
Summary: Things are not as they seem. A very different retelling of everything that we thought we knew. Lots of angst along the way as we follow the journey of these two headstrong survivors. Funny, Romantic, Dramatic and a little sad. Richonne/AU centric short fic. I do not own TWD.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Consequences of Bad Behavior**

The faint sound of crickets could be heard in the distance. It was a sound that lent a sense of normality that was universal; regardless of the state of the world. She had the baby monitor in her hands as she approached him. There was a genuine sense of pride on her face as she showed him the movements of the baby on the screen. _She's practicing in her sleep._

They sat next to each other on the cozy tan couch. The room was dim. The only light _seemingly_ coming from a single lamp; it cast a yellowish hue over the intimate area. He removed his boots. They smiled at each other. It had been a long day. The quiet conversation briefly recounted the craziness they'd encountered since their separation that morning. He just wanted to turn off his brain. So did she. _You found a guy?_

They let out a simultaneous sigh expressing both the contentment of home, and the weariness of life in a world where the rules of feasibility no longer existed; up was down and down was up. Though the sphere that they currently inhabited did not allow for much peace - peace and relaxation is exactly what they currently shared. He handed her a single roll of mints. _Is this instead of the toothpaste_?

They both laughed. He tapped her hand with the mints, gingerly handing them off to her. Their hands interlaced – tentative and unsure. They looked into the eyes of the other; uncharted waters of which they were prepared to plunge. It took only about six seconds to bridge the distance between them; to venture into their first kiss. Their lips met. Her hands found their way into his hair. They giggled as the kiss appeared to deepen. She fell slowly backwards into the couch as he moved forward, on top of her; never losing physical contact. Only deep breathing could be heard in the room…

"Cut…" The director shouted into the congregate of necessary crew members positioned in and around the room. Kari stood mere feet away from the couch on the very unpretentious and homelike set.

The past few weeks of dealing with these two actors in regards to this particular scene had become tense and nearly untenable. The days leading up to the scene had become even tenser – if that was possible. Between dealing with the apprehensive actors, their agents, and their managers, she and the producers were more than a little overwrought. They all dreaded filming _the scene_. Everyone from crew to the top executives at the network was holding their breath. She purposely filmed the couch scene last, given all the angst leading up to it.

At this moment however, it seemed that episode 6x10 might just work out. The entire episode had been seamless. _These are professionals, so of course it was seamless._

"That was great guys. Perfect," Kari informed them with her best forced smile. She almost laughed at herself; it was a smile not unlike the syrupy sweet smile that the Joan character from the show wore when she was hiding her true feelings. Just thinking about how ridiculous hers and everyone else's concerns had been made her smile. _So much wasted stress. That scene was perfection._ Her smile became more honest and less forced.

"Thank you everyone…" she looked around the room while making her announcement, "We can put this one in the can." There was applause, though guarded, and the beginnings of low chatter.

x-x-x

He quickly removed himself from her body. She backed away with equal haste and agility. The tranquility that existed just moments before was instantly replaced with tension; chatter ceased. The unease blanketed the room. The set became eerily quiet. Kari's short lived smile ended the moment her favorite actress spoke…

"Glad that's over," she quipped to no one in particular as she eased away from him.

"That makes two of us," he sniped with a tinge of sarcasm as he relaxed his body and watched her increase their distance. His chuckle was like nails on a chalkboard to her.

 _So damn arrogant_ , "Next time you might wanna pop one of those mints you're handing me," she snidely recommended; scampering farther away from him, bumping into the sofa's cushioned edge, "smells like a garbage dump in there."

"Sure thing darlin'," he smirked, "and maybe next time you can wax your mustache. Pretty sure you gave me a friction burn." He focused his glare at her before glancing back up to the director.

Her eyes grew large and then into a squinting ire as her hand found its way to her face, mindlessly ensuring that there was no hair above her lip. _Smooth_ _as always_. She quickly stood and snapped back…

"Fine, I'll wax, as long as you find some kind of moisturizer for your cracked lips. _I'm_ pretty sure you cut my lips with those raggedy things…" she grinned, annoyed, but also impressed by her quick retort.

In her career, Kari had worked on several television shows, with several actors. She found directing to be an artful and fulfilling experience. Her time with these particular thespians had been short but rewarding. Individually they were inspiring. The way they worked with their fellow cast mates was admirable. They were the best kinds of actors; professional, considerate and knowledgeable – which is why she stood there with her hand over her mouth in shock. She had looked forward to working with Michonne. She admired Michonne's social activism, playwriting success, flawless portrayal of the katana wielding survivor, and all her work in front of the camera. _But this behavior…_

She was dumbfounded; these two thoughtful adults had just morphed into what could only be described as petulant teens rehearsing for their first high school production of 'The Honeymooners'.

"Um…guys…" Kari attempted to interject as she stepped closer to the couch, her eyes bouncing back and forth between the two adult children before her. They were in the middle of a standoff, shooting metaphorical daggers at each other with their deadly stare.

"Undoubtedly those are the best cuts you've ever had," he smirked, touching his lips while never breaking his dark azure stare at his cast mate.

"You southern fried asshole." Michonne snapped, pulling off her mic and tossing it on the couch. There was an audible gasp and quiet laughter that could be heard in the open make-believe living room.

"At your service," Rick sarcastically quipped; tipping his head towards her with mock regard. She glared at him before turning to storm off the set. He faced his perplexed director…

"She threw the first punch." He told her before casually strolling off in the opposite direction – not bothering to remove his mic.

Kari was struck speechless. She looked over at two of the producers who were there for the taping. None said a word.

x-x-x

"I don't understand you two. He's one of the nicest men in show business. I haven't met anyone… _besides you_ …who doesn't like him." Sasha Williams let out in an exasperated sigh. This was not the first time she'd said these words. The conversation had been ongoing for the past several months – since Michonne received the script. These talks had become longer and more intense as _The Next World_ episode drew nearer.

"…And you're one of the sweetest people, not just actresses, but _people_ , that I've ever been lucky enough to represent," she continued in a resigned frustration, "I just don't get it."

"What is there to get?" Michonne grimaced at her agent, "We just don't like each other. We're not the first…sure we won't be the last."

"Fine, that may be the case, but you have to find a way to work together. There's too much at stake here." Sasha attempted a smile. _I need a serious drink._

x-x-x

"Exactly what are we talkin' about, Abe?" Rick was sitting in the worn brown leather ottoman in his manager's office. The conversation had been intense. Over an hour and a half arguing and still no progress; the actor seemed intent on not hearing what was being said.

Abraham Ford rose from his desk and stood by the window which overlooked the downtown Atlanta skyline. He ran his hand through his short, crop topped, red hair. He shook his head and took a deep breath.

"You're a smart guy, but for some reason, you seem to be stuck on stupid right now. So, let me put this in a nutshell for you, Rick," he drew in another frustrated breath, and then let it out, "The producers of the show, and the executives at AMC, are insisting that you do this. There are already rumors circulating that the two of you don't like each other. It'll be months before the episode with that kissing scene will air, and they don't want the viewers to know about this…uh…situation between the two of you."

"This is ridiculous. Makes no damn sense..." Rick responded without any acknowledgement of what his manager was attempting to relay.

"Rick!" Abe shouted. His patience was gone, "You're the main character on a fucking zombie show. Your contract is up for negotiation in three months. They can kill you off at any time." He stopped to take in the expression of his client. The wide questioning eyes looking back at him said that the conversation was long from over.

x-x-x

"I'm not doing it." She said with finality slightly shifting in her chair.

Sasha had been Michonne's agent for over ten years. They had seen each other through a lot. There were many times over the years that Sasha had considered getting out of the agent game. The only thing, or rather, the only person, that kept her from quitting had been Michonne. Of all the clients she'd had over the years, Michonne was the one that brought her peace and work satisfaction. They'd always worked with ease…until now.

"Michonne," she calmed her tone and reached across the table to grasp her client's hands, "you called him a deep fried…whatever, in front of the entire crew," she chuckled at her words, "and that has gotten back to the AMC executives…"

 _Sasha Williams, Agent Extraordinaire,_ didn't believe in a conventional office. She ran her agency out of an apartment that she rented in the downtown Atlanta area. The meetings that she held with her clients generally took place at a large handcrafted antique mahogany dining room table which sat in the open area between the kitchen and the living room. The entire area exuded the warmth that Sasha herself embodied. She took time to learn each of her client's likes and dislikes when it came to sweets and pastries. Michonne loved double fudge brownies and chocolate chip cookies. She'd ordered two dozen of each from arguably the best bakery in Atlanta. They were down to three of each – and the debate still waged on.

"This is some backroom deal kinda shit," Michonne interrupted in a huff, "I'm not doing it. It's ridiculous, patronizing and insulting," she furrowed her brow and peered back into her friends warm brown eyes. She was beginning to feel bad for giving Sasha such a hard time, but she refused to relent.

"Michonne, he's the lead character. He's the captain of the ship. Your character is important of course, but…if it comes down to you or him, who do you think they'll choose?" She posed the leading question with as much compassion possible, given her growing frustration.

x-x-x

"What the hell is it with you two?" Abe had sauntered over to the small mini bar in his office and poured himself a drink. He turned back to look at his flustered client, "She's an attractive woman; seems to get along with everyone on the set; never heard anything bad about her." He walked back to his desk, glass in hand, and sat on the edge of his desk.

"I've never seen you not get along with someone, Rick," he continued while attempting to decipher the defiant look on the other man's face.

"Not sure what you want me to say, Abe," Rick ran his hand over his face, squinting up at his longtime manager, "There ain't always a reason why people don't get along," he glanced over to the window.

"Look Rick, I know the divorce has been tough…"

"This doesn't…"

"Maybe this doesn't have anything to do with that," Abe interrupted, "but I know this has been a rough time for you." He lifted the glass to his lips and emptied its contents in two large gulps. Rick looked at him, expressionless. The divorce, though difficult, did not come as a surprise to Abe. Rick and Lori had been growing apart for years. RJ was the only true tie that held them together, but as their son grew older, that tie had loosened significantly. In the end, the distance – she'd made her home in California, and he'd made his in Georgia – sealed the fate of their marriage.

"I'm not trying to add to all the shit you're dealin' with right now, but you have to look at the bigger picture here…" he paused, attempting to measure his words before continuing, "It's not gonna look good…I mean…it might look like you have issues with her because…well…because she's black…"

"That's bullshit Abe and you know it," Rick snapped. His momentary reverie was lost and replaced with searing anger.

"I know. But we're talking about optics right now. Not truth…"

"Well, it's bullshit. Nearly half of the women I've kissed on screen have been black. They could easily make my love interest on the show…um…Debra or Jackie. I'd be just fine with that. This is bullshit," he rose from his seat and walked to the window, ignoring Abe's stare.

"I'm tired of this same conversation Rick. The fan base for your character and hers is off the charts. There's been a ship for this thing, damn near three years now. The producers want this. The fans want this. AMC wants this…Hell, your own mama is a part of that damn ship; she spent half your birthday dinner in my ear about your character getting together with hers." Mrs. Grimes was a little spit fire of a woman; she was stubborn and strong willed just like her son.

The alcohol had taken some of the edge off of Abe's irritation. He found a smile and expressed what he decided would be his final words on the subject…

"You're doing it." He turned around and picked up a small sheet of paper with words and numbers scribbled on it. He pushed himself off the desk and walked towards Rick; shoving the paper into his friend's hand before looking into the acrimonious stare…

"Be there tomorrow morning. Nine o'clock sharp."

x-x-x

"I want you to be happy, _Love_ , but if you don't do this…I can't guarantee that your contract negotiations will go smoothly next month," the curly haired agent could see that the wheels were finally turning the right way. The dots were connecting.

"Sasha, I don't have a problem being his onscreen love interest. Though I'd prefer it was with someone else…it's fine," she grabbed one of the remaining brownies before continuing, "but what the network is requiring is just…Ridiculous." She focused her stare over the shoulders of her ever patient friend and focused on the abstract painting on the wall.

"Chonney," she softened, "how is Mike? How are your parents?"

"My parents are fine, Sasha," she gave a quick and curt answer, "and Mike's good." _Though I'm pretty sure that relationship has reached its conclusion. He can't seem to handle my success the way that I thought he would._

Sasha looked at her face and seemed to hear the words that Michonne didn't say.

"Are you sure?"

"Sasha. I don't need you psychoanalyzing me. I'm fine. Mike's fine. My parents are fine. Life's great," her response was more biting than she'd intended. Though miffed, she attempted to not unload all her displeasure onto the caring woman sitting across from her.

"You have to look at the bigger picture," Sasha continued, "Your career is headed for the stars right now. Being a part of the Marvel Universe is freaking phenomenal. The last thing you need is for people to start thinking you're some kind of difficult prima donna and hard to work with." She looked past the final brownie that sat on the table between them, into her stubborn friends eyes and realized that she'd finally hit her mark.

"You know that's not me Sasha," her tone was the softest since they began this heated discussion, "I work well with everyone…" _Well almost everyone._ "I thought about throwing that horrible wig at him…but I didn't… _Did I_?" Her enlarged eyes coupled with her cocked head told Sasha that she completely missed the obvious incongruity in her confession.

Michonne ran her hands through her hair – it was about three inches high twisted into perfectly manicured and styled sister locs. She shrugged her shoulders and flashed a large bright smile, " _What_?"

Sasha twisted her lips and nodded her head. Mid eye roll she grabbed the last remaining cookie, and then burst out into laugher. Michonne followed suit with unfettered mirth. They both began laughing so hard that they were doubled over. After a few seconds Michonne's head was thrown back as she gasped for air, holding her stomach as it constricted – Sasha was leaned over, holding onto her thighs as she shook her head. The laugh fest continued for the next few minutes.

"You're insane, you know that?" Sasha mumbled mid snort. They continued laughing.

"I'm not," Michonne choked out, "Okay. Maybe I am," she agreed, wiping the free falling tears from her eyes as she continued to crack-up.

"You're going by the way…" the caramel colored agent informed her client as her chuckle slowed its pace.

Michonne stopped laughing enough to shoot the agent her own special evil eye. She wanted to argue but she couldn't get the words out.

Sasha pushed the business card, which had been at the point of contention for the past couple of hours, directly in front of Michonne.

"Tomorrow at nine o'clock, My Love," she smiled.

Michonne glared down at the business card.

 _Denise Cloyd, PhD, Specializing in non-couple_ _Couples Counseling_

* * *

 _A/N:_ Thank you so much for taking a chance on this story, even without a description, and reading to the end. The idea came to me a few days ago and I just went with it. It will only be a few chapters. Please let me know what you think. Up next, Couples Counseling.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Thank you so very much for every review, follow and favorite. I honestly wasn't sure if anyone would like this story. A special Thank You to CarribeanQueen who was kind enough to blog this story on Tumblr. I am incredibly grateful and humbled. I hope you all enjoy this chapter.

* * *

 **Chapter 2: Couples Counseling**

 **1 week ago-**

The previous day's rain had left a clear and smog free sky in its wake. The sun's rays broke through the tarrying clouds and cast a radiant brightness over the city.

A seven story brick building was positioned amongst the other high-rise windowed buildings in downtown Atlanta, Georgia. On the fifth floor, at the end of a long maze of cubicles and busy workers – past the restrooms and breakrooms – was a door with neither a name plate nor a plaque above its threshold. On the other side of the door was a spacious office with floor-to-ceiling fixed windows stretched the length of the wall.

Five men and one woman sat around the conference table. There was an array of snacks and beverages generously laid out before them. The room was surprisingly stuffy; its brightness misleading. With the exception of a lightly tapping pen and an unobtrusive sneeze, the occupants were quiet. All heads in the room turned towards the door as two men in business suits entered. They acknowledged the others with the customary head nod before taking their seat. After all the professional pleasantries, introductions and handshakes, the man with his back to a large board – clad with diagraphs, pictures and handwritten notes – cleared his throat to begin the meeting.

"So why don't you tell me how we got here," the bass in his voice demanded attention as he directed his frustration to the thin, blonde haired man sitting to his left, "I was told that you had this under control."

The thin blonde shifted in his seat, "We…um…we believed that it _was_ under control," he stammered, "their agents and managers assured us that everything would be okay…"

"Clearly Not," his boss interrupted, "or else we wouldn't be looking at this would we?" he slid a thick report across to his subordinate. Neither his snarl nor his tone left any room for doubt that he was not pleased. There was shuffling of paper at the table, but no one spoke.

"Okay. So we have the two leads of our most popular show and they don't get along. We all knew they didn't get along, but then we decide…" he shook his head adding an acerbic chuckle, "to put them into a romantic relationship…" No one responded.

"Did someone piss in someone's cereal? I mean, what's going on here?" He continued, "What do they have against each other? Is this some kind of lovers quarrel?" His question was voiced to everyone and to no one in particular. It was a rhetorical question because the executives had already put 'feelers' out. No information surfaced that even hinted at a romantic relationship between the two cast mates. The meeting attendees shook their heads and shrugged their shoulders. They all avoided eye contact with their boss at the head of the table; choosing to remain silent.

The sensitive nature of the discussion, which could have possible legal ramifications, added an overly tense tone to the gathering. Legal counsel was added in the mix to explain all contractual legalities which may arise during the discourse. The lawyers, however, remained silent as well.

At the other end of the table one of the younger executives nervously put his hand up.

"You don't have to raise your hand John, this isn't preschool," the imposing man with the unmistakable low-toned pitch grimaced.

"Well, um, we could hire stand ins…uh…doubles for them; for when they have scenes together. Shoot them separately…" he barely got the words out of his mouth before the grumbles started.

Everyone began speaking at the same time. Though no singular individual could be heard through the onslaught of objections, the overall consensus towards the suggestion was negative – to say the least. The words ridiculous and expensive were just some of the words that could be heard in the foray of voices.

" _We don't have the money…something like that would cost…we'd have to hire separate crews for that…"_ someone's words rose above the others. The objections all blended together into a resounding 'NO.'

"At least he has an idea…" the head executive's voice boomed above the sea of disagreeable utterances, shutting down all discussion, "Which is more than I can say for everyone else sitting in here."

The younger executive, who wanted to slink away and die just moments earlier, puffed his chest out just slightly having been low-key acknowledged and not completely dismissed by the older head executive.

Quiet settled back over the room.

"Um," the lone woman in the room began.

"What is it Holly?" everyone looked towards the reticent redhead as she slightly fidgeted in her seat.

"Ahem," she cleared her throat, "I have an idea. It's very unorthodox, but it just might work."

x-x-x

 **Present Day-**

The conversation with Sasha had not ended the way Michonne planned. Once it was all said and done, agreeing to these psychotherapy sessions was just a mere formality. It wasn't a suggestion - nor was it optional. Regardless of how the recommendation for the therapy was posed to her agent, any thought that this was voluntary was no more than an illusion. Though soft-pedalled, the network was dangling her career over her head; this counseling was not voluntary by any means.

Sasha made it clear, " _It's more about what they didn't say than what they did…they didn't say blackballed.._. _but we both know that's what will happen_." The agent never mixed words with her clients or her friends – Michonne was both. Sasha's final words, " _You're doing this_."

The drive to the downtown office had taken more than an hour. Morning rush hour traffic was unrelenting. She used the time for much needed self-reflection. It was difficult not to over analyze herself and the motives behind her bad behavior _. It was probably stupid and certainly unprofessional to act that way. Get a grip Michonne. You are too mature. Too attentive._ No one, other than Sasha, was aware of this forced therapy sessions. To tell her parents and friends about the sessions would mean admitting to behaving like someone other than the responsible and thoughtful person that they all believed she was. It would mean admitting that she had normal human flaws that those closest to her chose to ignore.

"At some point I have to write my own narrative." She whispered to her reflection in the visor's mirror.

It was eight forty five when she parked her car in the lot adjacent to the office building. She grabbed her purse and hastened towards the front of the building. Punctuality was akin to true professionalism for her. She rushed past the few pedestrians on the sidewalk and entered the building. Rick was standing in the middle of the lobby – a single elevator to his front and to his back. He looked in her direction for just a second, giving her a cordial smile. She returned the gesture. Her need for haste was suddenly gone.

She heard the ding; alerting the elevators arrival. Her stride decreased to a turtle like stroll while she fumbled with her purse. A few seconds later the doors opened and then closed. The lobby was now empty. She approached the elevators and pressed the button.

Within a few minutes the doors opened. She took a deep breath as she exited the elevator and walked towards the office with Denise Cloyd, PhD emblazoned on the door. Rick was sitting when she entered.

"Thanks for holding the elevator," she said with dripping sarcasm before sitting down.

"Generally, when someone wants to make an elevator, they speed up, not slow down," he said averting his eyes from her stare.

That was the end of their contentious banter for remainder of their time in the office reception area. He sat in one of the two chairs; arms folded and staring at the picture on the wall of a doctor on a couch and a person in a strait jacket in the chair, _guess that's supposed to be irony_ , he chuckled softly to himself. She sat on the end the small sofa; flipping through the _Psychology Today_ magazine not bothering to look at the information. She inconspicuously glanced at him, annoyed with his apparent amusement at something. _What a jerk_.

The office door opened. A young woman with dark blonde hair, glasses, a pair of faded jeans and a tucked in large plaid shirt stood in the door way; her smile was large and very welcoming. She looked at the two television stars. ' _Wow'_ is what she almost said before quickly remembering that she was a professional and they were there for her guidance and expertise.

"Good morning. I'm Denise Cloyd, and I'm happy to say that we'll be working together for the next couple of weeks," she announced with well-rehearsed confidence.

x-x-x

The very sour and annoyed expressions on their faces told her that this whole process would be a challenge. Once her reluctant patients were seated, she started with the standard welcoming lines.

"I'm really excited to go on this journey with the two of you. I believe that this will be a very productive experience. I'm sure that neither of you are very happy about being here, but if you give it a chance, you may find our sessions to be quite beneficial," she paused, "Though I've conducted counseling sessions similar to this…I've never _actually_ done one like this before," she laughed to herself and adjusted her glasses. They stared expressionless at her.

"Okay…so," she continued, "Full disclosure. I do watch the show and I'm a big fan of you both…And the show." They smiled politely at her. She sighed and picked up her notepad. The room was still as she perused her notes.

"Looks like we'll be meeting four times; two this week and two next week. The sessions will be fifty minutes and hopefully helpful to you both." Still no recognition of her words. The room was uncomfortably silent. It appeared to Denise that the two actors were playing a game of who can out silence the other – whoever speaks first loses.

"Why don't we start with some introductions? I don't mean the things I can read on IMBD, I mean who you actually are…"

"Excuse me," Michonne spoke for the first time since entering the room, "I'm here because I have to be. I think it's ridiculous and demeaning. Either way, I'm here. I just want to be very clear; I have no intention of being analyzed. I also have no intention of sharing my personal thoughts and feeling with you or _him_." Her last word dripping with disdain; she kept her eyes focused on the therapist – though peripherally picking up on the movements of her co-star.

"I have to agree with _her_ ," he said, not letting her pronouncement be the only one laced with venom. He smirked and also kept his eyes trained on the therapist, "I ain't here to discuss how my parents didn't give me the bike I wanted when I was ten years old."

Denise adjusted her dark framed glasses, "Alright. I appreciate your candor," her eyes acknowledging both people.

"The purpose of these sessions is not meant to address childhood or parent issues. The only purpose for this counseling is to come to an agreement of how the two of you can work together as harmoniously as possible. We may need to do some digging to figure out the reasons behind the…uh, acrimonious atmosphere that exists between you," Denise watched the body language of both. They appeared to be a little less tense though neither responded.

"Oh, and Rick, I'd be happy to discuss the whole bike incident with you if you'd like," she laughed at her attempted levity. Rick gave her a half smile.

Denise began the process of breaking through the shell of these very head strong individuals. They were intent on not being active participants in this process.

After all the pleasantries and completing the small ice breakers she'd prepared, the only thing left to do was dive right in.

"Michonne, why don't you tell me something nice about Rick," she realized before even asking that it was a soft-shell question – _you have to start somewhere_.

"He's a good actor," she gave her standard response without missing a beat or looking up from her lap - her fingers lightly holding her necklace.

"Okay," Denise smiled.

"Rick, same question," she continued her smile.

"She's a talented actress," repeating the answer he'd given on every talk show interview and Comic Con panel over the past two years.

 _They are definitely not going to make this easy._

"It seems like you both have respect for the others work. Which is a good thing…" she smiled, "We can start there, but…I'd like to venture away from your standard responses about each other if we could."

The remainder of the session was like pulling teeth. The yes and no answers made it difficult to move the session along a productive route. Denise did get them to talk about themselves, but the information was nothing that she couldn't find out by reading any entertainment rag or social blog.

Rick talked about his son Rick Jr., better known as RJ. He beamed when he spoke of the young man who was currently living in California with his mother. He steered away from talking about anything personal and spoke mostly about how much he appreciated working on the show.

Michonne also did not disclose any information about her personal life. She talked about a play that she had just finished writing and her appreciation at being a part of a huge movie franchise. She had to consciously not show the excitement that she felt when discussing her writings and her new role.

"Thank you both for coming in. Though we didn't get as far as…well…as far as I believe we can, it was a definite start. I'll see you both in two days."

Denise was excited at the prospect of breaking through the shell of these two very stubborn people.

x-x-x

"In our last session we learned a few things about both of you. I'd like to use this session to dig a little deeper." There were several things that Denise had picked up on in the previous session. She made notes of subtle movements, eye rolls, posture adjustments, and facial deviations.

"We didn't discuss the incident that happened on the set…the incident that led us here," she watched both headstrong actors shift in their seat. _Good. Let's dig into this uncomfortable topic._

"Before we get into that, I'd just like to ask a couple of questions. Hopefully you both recognize that this is a safe and non-judgmental place. You can be completely honest here." The optimistic mildly frazzled young woman announced. She looked at the very uninterested actress in front of her.

"Michonne," she paused and waited to receive the undivided attention of the reluctant participant, "Were you and Rick ever close? Were you ever friends?" The question was met with a blank stare. Denise could see the wheels turn. The room was quiet while the question hung in the air.

"I'm not sure how to answer that question," she said with a shrug.

"Um…Okay. I asked for honesty, and if that's your honest feelings then I'll take it," she smiled before looking at the man whose eyes went large in response to the non-answer.

"Rick, did you ever consider Michonne a friend?"

In spite of his protest, Rick actually thought the counseling wasn't a bad idea. He never admitted it to anyone, but he really wanted to know why Michonne abruptly ended their friendship. One day they were talking and laughing and the next she was walking the other direction when she saw him coming. She minimized the amount of times that she'd hang out with the cast during their down times; never telling him directly that she wanted nothing to do with him, but her actions were very clear.

He approached her on several occasions during the first few months of her cold shoulder routine to find out what he'd done wrong. Her answers ranged from, " _nothing,_ " to " _I'd just prefer to keep my interactions with the cast on a professional and not personal level_." He knew that wasn't the truth. _I've seen you talk and laugh with everyone else. Clearly it's directed at me_. He kept his thoughts to himself and allowed her to set the rules of their interaction – or lack thereof. He eventually stopped asking.

"Yes. We were friends." He said.

Michonne let out a soft contentious chuckle before pressing her lips together. She looked away from the others and glared at the wall.

"Michonne, do you agree with what Rick said?" Denise again attempted to chip away at the resentment the woman seemed unwilling to release.

"I agree that he may think that. It's not up to me to change what he _does_ and _doesn't_ think. His thoughts don't change my answer." Her words were said plainly and without anger.

 _This is a losing battle_ , Denise had no doubt. _You are not going to give an inch_. She smiled at Michonne and decided to let the straightforward words be the last ones on the subject, _today_.

"Let's move on to the couch scene," Denise said, "who would like to start?"

Michonne shifted her body to face the woman. She side-eyed Rick before she spoke…

"I'll start," it was more of a warning than it was a pronouncement, "Who smokes a cigarette before a kissing scene and doesn't bother to use any type of breath freshener? I mean, Really?!" She scoffed; her arms were folded as she turned away from Denise and glared at Rick.

He ran his hands through his hair and chuckled.

"I apologize for that…"

"That's why I said he smelled like a garbage dump. I wasn't necessarily trying to be mean," she spit out before he could continue.

"As I was saying," he looked away from Michonne and into the eyes of the enthusiastic doctor, "I apologize. I've been trying to stop smoking for a long time. It was the first one I'd had in a long time…" he informed his angry costar while keeping his eyes focused on Denise.

"And you wait until _that_ scene to light up?!" She said incredulously.

He shook his head opting not to answer her question, which was more of an indictment than a question.

"It was offensive and it felt like he was purposely being disrespectful to me," she kept her eyes focused on their unwilling referee.

"That was _not_ my intention," he looked away from Denise and tried to capture the eyes of the woman who was too perturbed to look at him.

"It was…stupid," he admitted.

"Well," she relented and looked him in the face, "Stupid is as stupid does," she informed with a knowing smile.

"Michonne, I think its best that we stay away from, uh, name calling," Denise suggested while again adjusting her glasses.

"I didn't call him stupid. It's a line from a movie that I thought was apropos to the moment," she informed the young therapist without bothering to look at the individual to whom the remark was actually directed.

"It's fine Denise," his concentrated contempt fixed on Michonne, "Because, 'Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn," he said doing his best Rhett Butler impression; including the narrowed eyes and exasperated sigh - never taking his eyes off the dark skinned beauty before him.

"It figures..." she scoffed, returning his angry stare back to him, "that you'd pick a line from...whatever..." she waved her hand dismissively and looked away.

"Excuse me," he furrowed his brow at her, "what's the _whatever_?"

She glared back at him. He was definitely challenging her.

"It figures that you'd quote a line from one the most overrated movies in cinematic history," she looked at him with both amusement and disdain.

"You're callin' _Gone with the Wind_ overrated?" He asked indignantly with a chuckle.

"I am," she said matter-factly.

"As a Southerner, I'm offended," he truthfully relayed with a slight smile.

She laughed, "As a Northerner, I don't care," she was again impressed by her razor sharp retort - as her slightly upturned lips reflected.

"Alright," Denise jumped in before the conversation could devolve any further, "that's probably a good place to stop. I'll see you both the day after tomorrow. Thank you both for being more active participants in this session."

Rick lingered in the office. He wasted time by asking the young doctor a few questions about parking – thus allowing Michonne time to leave; lessening the chances of another awkward interaction by or in the elevator.

x-x-x

"Good morning. It's nice to see you both," she greeted the co-stars, "How did filming go yesterday?" She asked.

The shoot had been uncomfortable. Michonne tapped into all her training from _Tisch_ to perform the scripted scenes. She and Rick were required to hold hands on two different occasions and lovingly look into each other's eyes. The script actually had the words, ' _lovingly look into the others eyes_.' That took some doing. It seemed that all her training and subsequent acting roles had led to those moments. _Could she pull off those scenes with a realistic flow?_ The director went out of his way to tell them that it was a job well done. She silently congratulated herself with the knowledge that she did pull it off.

They stayed far away from each other between takes.

"It went well," Michonne responded.

The young counselor nodded and then looked at her notes, which were sitting on a clipboard on her lap.

"Rick, I wanted to address something you said in our last session," she looked into the wide blue eyes of the movie star, "You said that you hadn't had a cigarette in a long time. How long had it been?"

Rick narrowed his eyes and glanced up while he processed her question, "I'm not exactly sure. Probably about a month and a half," he recalled.

"That's interesting," she told him.

"What's so interesting about that?" He was hoping to not get into a discussion about the ills of cigarette smoking. His parents, son and ex-wife raked him over the coals enough about his less than desirable addiction. _I am not here for that_.

It was a habit he picked up his sophomore year of college. Initially, it was no more than something he did when hanging out with other students. None of them actually liked the taste, but it served a purpose. Most of the professors smoked cigarettes. The students who smoked were unofficially allowed behind the curtain which existed between professors and students. There was untold power and acceptance in the simple words, " _do you have a light_." It was a liberating walk on the wild side; giving the middle finger to convention. Rick loved the freedom. The fact that he eventually realized the little stick of tobacco owned him, was irony that often made him both cringe and laugh.

"Why do you think you smoked a cigarette that day?" She asked.

He ran his hand through his hair; his eyes closed as he sighed. _What is she getting at? I am not here for this._ He silently gauged her facial expression. Her eyes were slightly narrowed but so innocent and warm. As annoyed as he was, it was difficult to remain such with this woman.

"I don't mean to throw you with that question, but I'm just curious. There must be a reason that you fell off the nicotine wagon," she smiled in an attempt to lessen the quickly growing tension that was emanating from him.

"Didn't really think of the reason behind it." He answered, attempting not to reflect the annoyance he felt.

"Do you usually smoke when you're relaxing; bothered; nervous; tired; what?" she asked.

"Sounds like this is turning into some kind of cigarette intervention," he laughed, "trust me…they don't work…"

"Rick, believe me, that's not what this is. I'm just trying to figure out why you smoked after doing such a great job at abstaining."

He rubbed his forehead. She could see that he was getting annoyed. There were a few bells that went off for her during the previous sessions. This was not the time to allow them to stay in their own special 'sunken place.'

"I smoke to relax…for the most part," he said.

"I'm sure that's the case. But, you had been relaxing for the month and a half prior to that scene without smoking. Why smoke that day?" She asked but did not wait to continue her train of thought.

"I understand that there was a lot of stress leading up to the scene…and yet you didn't smoke." She adjusted her glasses again and decided to trudge on…

"So…you didn't smoke to relax and you didn't smoke because you were stressed." She stopped.

Rick didn't respond. Michonne had been quiet during the exchange. Her curiosity had been peaked though she kept her eyes cast downward.

"Not exactly sure what you're gettin' at," he lied, peripherally watching Michonne uncomfortably shift. Her point was made. He knew it and they knew it. Smoking the cigarette was his nervous tick; much like he'd noticed fiddling with her glasses was the kindly clinicians visible expression of nervousness; fiddling with her necklace was Michonne's.

"I'm just trying to piece this together. Is it possible that you smoked because you were nervous about the scene?"

 _Bingo_

"Why would I be nervous? That was not my first love…uh, kissing scene," he snapped, more from embarrassment than annoyance. Light beads of sweat were on his forehead. He ran his hands over his lightly graying beard and leaned forward.

Ignoring both his words and body language, "People get nervous for all types of reasons. There's no shame in that." She persisted and kept her eyes trained on him.

"Nervous is your word. Not mine," His voice was low. He turned towards Michonne. They unintentionally made eye contact. It wasn't the combative staring contest that they generally found themselves in. This was different. He smiled – eyes opening a little wider.

Her eyes narrowed. _Oh my God. Is he flirting with me? That's a lot of damn nerve._ She suddenly felt a mix of angst and anger. Her leg began to bounce. She placed her right hand on her leg to stop the visible tick she'd had since childhood. Her other hand unconsciously went to her necklace – the tick that she rarely recognized.

She curled her lips and looked away from him. Facing Denise; no longer able to listen to their back and forth. The conversation appeared to be going in a direction that she was not willing to be a part of…

"You wanna know about our 'friendship'?" Michonne spat, using air quotes around the word friendship, "Fine."

 _Michonne had been working on the highly rated show for just over one year. The transition from small guest roles on television shows to the lead in two independent films, though odd, flowed very naturally. Her career had been wrought with peaks and valleys, but it hit its all-time high when she was cast as the katana wielding survivor on the show. She continued to express herself artistically through her writing, eventually finding backers for two of her plays. However, the show would be her bread and butter for the time being._

 _Working on her plays while moving from New York to Georgia was difficult. It was also a true culture shock; on nearly every level. She was welcomed with open arms from everyone involved in the show, thus making the transition surprisingly smooth. The crew, producers, and everyone involved with the show had become her second family; but her connection with the actors was special._

 _The back woods of Georgia, where they the show was filmed, didn't offer many perks or interactions with others in the entertainment industry. They all hung around with each other, more out of necessity than anything else – initially. Eventually, the necessity became a desire because there was a connection beyond just proximity. They enjoyed each other's company; which is why this particular day would be difficult._

 _The days leading up to today had been emotionally draining. One of the lead actresses, who had become a good friend to Michonne, was filming her death scene. The producer's decision to kill off the character had come as a shock._

 _Michonne drove to the set, completely lost in her thoughts. She and Andrea spent most of the night on the phone. What started out as Michonne checking in on Andrea, turned into Andrea consoling Michonne – they laughed and cried through most of the conversation. The relationship all the actors had was special, but the women on the show had built a bond of sisterhood. The relationships were organic – no planned thought or intention - and this loss would hurt for some time._

 _She parked, greeted co-workers, and walked towards her trailer. The trailers, though spread out, were in the same general area. As she approached her trailer, she decided that the last thing she wanted was to be alone with thoughts that would only serve to increase her sadness. Getting emotionally connected to a co-star on a television show is never a good idea – but getting emotionally connected to a co-star on a show where character deaths are expected and commonplace is a horrible idea. She decided to visit with Rick, or even Daryl. The men seemed to handle the emotional upheaval a little better than the women._

 _Rick had become her friend. There was something about him. He was a nice man, and as actors go, he was truly a gentleman. He was the lead on a high profile show, and yet he was still very down to earth. She would never admit it, but she had a little crush on him – 'like most of the other women' she assumed. He was married, which kept the ladies from being openly vocal about their non-professional thoughts about him. She'd met his wife once at a cast party several months back, but had not seen her since. He spoke quite often of his son RJ, but stayed mute on the subject of his wife and his marriage._

 _As she approached Rick's trailer she stumbled just enough to drop the apple she had in her hand. After mumbling a curse word at her clumsiness, she bent down to pick up the fruit. The conversation which was going on was not loud, but she was able to make out the voices – Rick and Daryl. She smiled at the thought of the two men. She dusted off the apple no more than ten feet from his opened doorway._

"… _Michonne…" she stopped her movement as her name wafted through the air. She wasn't sure if that was Daryl of Rick. Conversation further in the distance momentarily distracted her from the voices coming from Rick's trailer. She refocused on the conversation her friends were having._

"… _No, I'm not saying that, Daryl," Rick said._

" _Well, that's what it sounds like," Daryl countered. It was not her intention to eavesdrop, but whatever they were discussing seemed…interesting._

" _Either way," there was a pause before he continued, "I just think she's pretentious. Kinda like she's better than the rest of us because she speaks French…" there was silence and sounds of shuffling. She couldn't move; unsure of exactly what she was hearing, "…and now we're about to lose a good character and a good actress…" Rick lamented. There was a momentary silence and then both men laughed._

" _Yeah," Daryl said mid laugh._

 _She couldn't listen any longer; Rick's words cut through her. She quickly turned and made a beeline to her trailer. Smiling and wishing a good morning to crew members as she passed; her face never giving away the thoughts that swirled in her head - I can't believe it. Is that how they all think about me? I never should've allowed myself to care about everyone. I thought they cared about me. Liked me; I thought he liked me. All this time - The tears that she shed in her trailer after overhearing the conversation were not the last ones she shed over the next few days. The tears eventually stopped and left an impenetrable shell behind._

"That was the last time I trusted him…" the sorrowful eyes of the therapist bored into hers. Sharing the story was a first, and was somewhat liberating. It was something that she'd never told anyone; purposely leaving out the part about having a crush on Rick and crying, "And I'm okay with it," she crossed her arms and smiled.

Rick turned to face her, "It wasn't…"

"It's fine…" She stopped him from saying what she figured was going to be some kind of excuse or explanation. "I'm over it." Her focus shifted to the window behind Denise.

"It was a lesson that I needed to learn…not one I need to revisit," the betrayal and hurt that she'd felt that day wasn't something that needed any further discussion.

"Do I at least get the chance to respond? I mean, it's a mis…" Rick attempted before she cut him off.

"Looks to me like our time is up for this session; I have a pretty busy day," Michonne interrupted as she stood, grabbed her purse and walked to the door. Without looking back, she opened the door and left the office.

"Uh, we actually have ten more minutes…" Denise said, a little too late, as the door closed behind the retreating actress.

As she stood facing the elevator, pushing the down button repeatedly, the tears that she'd held back for nearly two years began to fall. She could hear the clicking sound of his boots on the clean tile floor. _I refuse to let you see me cry; weak is not who I am._ She shifted her stance.

He saw her standing directly in front of the lift doors. There was hesitation as he slowly approached her. The conscious effort he'd made over the past couple of years to not notice her body, her scent, her laugh had become more difficult since the couch scene – episode 6x10. Her dislike of him and his dislike for her was the levee that kept all inappropriate thoughts from spilling forth. That levee was crumbling for him. He stared at her – allowing himself for the first time in two years to appreciate her coke bottle figure.

He took a deep breath, "Michonne…can I talk…" his husky voice with the southern twang echoed off the marble walls in the empty hall.

"I'll take the stairs." She announced abruptly, not turning around. He watched her walk to the door embossed with a picture of stairs.

He watched the door close behind her.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think. Chapter 3, Hindsight, will be posted soon. Blessings :-)


	3. Chapter 3 - Hindsight

**A/N** : Thank you so much for all the reviews, follows and favorites. I'm so incredibly appreciative. Please enjoy...

* * *

 **Chapter 3 - Hindsight**

It was an early morning sauna delight for those who ventured outside. Atlanta, Georgia was unrelenting when it came to humidity in the late days of spring and early days of summer. After six years of filming in a moisture filled atmosphere the crew was accustomed to the delicate balance between comfortable and uncomfortable conditions. Most of the crew was from the American south, so days like these were a mere walk in the park. Cast members, however, were from all around the country and world. They adjusted accordingly out of work necessity. Rick was from a small town in Georgia so he was one who simply took it in stride.

The upcoming season of the show would bring many changes. Its popularity led to a bigger everything; sets, crew and cast members. His extended television family was joining forces other group; no longer just him and a small supporting cast. New locations had been added, and along with it, many new faces.

He spent the morning trying not to think about the session; he'd already spent a sleepless night with the same intention. ' _A cigarette would be great right now'_ was his prevailing thought all morning. It took all the willpower he could muster not to give into his ready and available addiction. Tom Petty blasting through the speakers was what he used to drown out thoughts as he drove - thoughts that wouldn't let him be.

The showrunner for the series approached him as soon as he parked his car. It felt like a well-planned ambush.

"Hey, Rick. Do you have a minute?" The averaged sized man with short brown hair asked.

Rick had done his best to avoid all the powers that be from the network for the past week. He'd essentially been told that keeping his job was contingent on going to therapy. The network ordered counseling seriously ruffled his feathers and he wasn't sure that his acting abilities were good enough to mask his contemptuous feelings.

"Alright," he responded keeping his eyes focused on the extras as they practiced their _zombie_ shambles. He put his hands on his hips and slowly turned his head to look into the eyes of his boss.

"Look, I know you're not too thrilled with any of us right now…" Rick kept his expression blank and politely nodded to indicate that he was listening, "I get it. But you need to look at this from our perspective. You and Michonne are our leads. People on set look up to you both, and the public adore you." He chuckled to loosen both his nervousness and the sour disposition of the man in front of him. Rick's expression did not change.

As much as the producers had used bloggers to increase awareness and fervor for the show, they did the same to detract from any brewing negativity in relation to the show. Employing a wag-the-dog tactic was paramount to keeping the episode 6x10 debacle a secret. The network announced a spin off show the day after the filming of the couch scene. _Redirect…Deflect…and then Redirect some more_.

"Not only are we looking to increase our fan base, but we also have a whole new set of actors joining the show. And, well, we can't have the two of you…uh…well, we can't have you fighting. There's too much at stake," his smile not faltering as he gave Rick's terse facial expression and rigid body language the once over.

Rick looked him in the eyes, ran his hand over his stubbly face and said, "Got it." He then began the trek to his trailer.

As perturbed as he was with the higher ups, he knew without a doubt that the counseling was a good idea. ' _She finally opened up.'_ He learned something that had dogged him for two years. The question of why he'd lost a friendship that mattered more to him than he would ever admit had been answered.

Working on a show where most of the labor was as far from glamourous as you can get was not easy for non-southerners. Though everyone was always generous and accepting of the 'newbies,' Rick was head of the unofficial welcome wagon. He took it upon himself to greet everyone who joined the show; both in front of and behind the camera. It was a part of his position as the lead character that he enjoyed. Today, however, was different.

Today's pleasantries were more of a job than a joy. The jovial welcome that he extended to the cast and crew before taking temporary residence and solace in his trailer was some of his best acting. By the time he closed his door and sat on his extremely worn couch, the feeling of having already acted for the day was all consuming. He laughed ' _best foot forward and all that._ _I should win a Screen Actors Guild Award for that alone.'_ He laid his head back and closed his eyes with the intent of taking a quick breather. Much needed sleep absorbed him for the next hour.

There was a light tap on his door, "Rick, they need you on set," the young assistant called from outside. He opened his eyes. The words that usually excited him and got him moving quickly sent a cold chill down his spine. He hadn't seen _her_ since her revelation in the very private counseling session the day before. He wasn't ready to see her.

"Comin'," he lazily shouted to the closed door while pushing himself off the couch.

The door flung open, "C'mon Rick, you've been holed up in your trailer all morning," Maggie said as she entered his medium sized one room home away from home without knocking. Their time working together had called for an end to old school formalities – like knocking. Rick stood and beheld the young woman who was more of a sister than a friend.

"I was on my way," he said without looking in her direction.

"What's going on with you? I haven't seen you this distracted since…" she didn't finish voicing her observation which involved his divorce. They were good friends, but even good friendships had boundaries.

"…Well, it's just been a while since you've been so…I don't know…aloof I guess," she softened her tone and watched him put his script on the end table.

"Just tired," he said before turning to face her, "didn't get much sleep," which was true, though he had no intentions of telling her the reason why.

"Okay," she stepped away from the door entry and closer to him, "I know it's been a rough few months with RJ in California, so if you just wanna talk or vent, I'm here," she smiled. He reached out and squeezed her arm.

"I appreciate that Maggie," he forced a smile. It was difficult to get out of his head, but he was a professional and he had a job to do.

"What are friends for?" she laid her hand on top of his, "Plus, you're the big brother that my mama and daddy didn't give me," she laughed.

"Yeah," he joined in her laughter. She was the little sister that his mom and dad didn't give him either.

"You know," she said as they began to exit the portable room, "I've never understood the distance between you and Michonne. But I know that when two good people are involved in a disagreement, stubbornness is usually the only thing standing in the way of a solution," she smiled softly.

Maggie, along with the other members of the show, never directly addressed the noticeably tense working relationship between him and Michonne. The tenseness spilled over into their personal interactions as well; which she also never mentioned.

Their seeming contempt for each other was one of the worst kept secrets on set. The situation was whispered amongst some, though never openly discussed; an open secret that never made it to the press or anyone's social media page. Their troubled relationship was well-guarded from public scrutiny because they were held in high esteem by their small screen community of friends.

"I just wish you guys would sit down and hash it out," she felt compelled to make the suggestion. Both Rick and Michonne were people she cared about. The past two years had been somewhat uncomfortable for those who liked and cared for them both. Choosing not to take sides was easy since no one knew what had caused the break in what was once such a harmonious friendship.

Rick looked into the soft green eyes of his friend and nodded. He chose not to respond because there was really nothing he could say. The knowledge of counseling sessions was on a very need to know basis. Even if he wanted to tell her about the counseling, he would never give anyone information about Michonne without her permission. _She may not think that I'm her friend…but I am._

As the series' protagonist and leader of the main group of survivors, he needed to portray a positive and upbeat demeanor in the beginning. Over the past few years the writers gradually changed his character into a more cold and calculating survivor. That sorrowful disposition he was required to have for today's shoot would be beneficial. He was in no mood to be upbeat.

x-x-x

"Michonne, that was good," the director smiled and waved his hand to a few of the extras standing near. It was early but she was already sticky from the generosity of Georgia's climate. She perused the area while her fellow co-workers busied themselves preparing to film the scene. The newly constructed sound stages for interior shots were in the distance.

The night had not been a peaceful one. Letting her guard down in front of Rick and Denise had been challenging. She spent most of the evening trying to figure out exactly why she _did_ let her guard down. But at the end of the day, and in her case at the end of the night, it had been liberating. There was something keeping her from moving forward completely. Everything was great. _So why am I in a holding pattern?_

Her career was heading to a place where she never could've envisioned just one year earlier. The television show was so highly rated that the fandom for everyone on the show was off the charts. Offers had come in - in droves. Turning down offers had become par for the course. There just wasn't enough time in the day to do everything. She and her agent were very selective.

This was the time to be selective with not just television offers, but with movie offers, panel discussions, philanthropy choices, and so on. Choosing to do the Marvel movie, however, was a no-brainer. The role had catapulted an already star bound career. Everyone looked at her and saw a woman that had it all. 'W _hat is my problem'?_

She knew that Mike wasn't wholly to blame for the stall in their relationship. They had petered along because she kept him at a distance. It was easy to convince herself and her sister whom she spoke honestly with, that the fault was all Mike's. He could not accept her success and her burgeoning career. It was the truth, but not the complete truth. She did not put the care and time into the relationship which she should have. Never gave him the openness that he desired. He drifted away from her while she watched and never tried to pull him back.

The only true passionate emotion that she'd had for the last two years was her contempt for Rick. It was a strong emotion. Years ago her mom told her, " _Never hate anyone because hate is stronger than love, and you should never give that emotion to someone that's not worthy."_ She decided that she didn't hate Rick, she just despised him. Yes, she was splitting hairs, it was an equally strong emotion - one that she knew he didn't deserve - but she could never shake it. A smile crept onto her face, ' _If I had put that same kind of passion into my relationship with Mike it wouldn't be ending. I need to return his text. We definitely need to talk. Breaking up through text would be easier though. Cowardly Michonne, you can't do that._

She was so deep in her thoughts that she didn't see or hear them approach.

"Good morning, Michonne," his drawl instantly brought her out of her musings. She felt an instant chill and quickly tensed up as she turned to face the newcomers.

"Good morning, Rick," she said flatly before turning towards the woman standing next to him.

"Hey, Michonne."

"Hey, Maggie," they said simultaneously while stepping closer for a friendly embrace. After a moment they both stepped back.

"So how's it going so far?" Maggie inquired while glancing around at the many new faces. The trio was standing on a slightly inclined dirt path leading to a new fixture for the show; a large faux house which looked like a cross between a small museum and a mansion belonging on a plantation.

"It's going good," Michonne responded while surveying the goings on around them.

"Lots of new folks. They seem nice," Maggie observed.

It was getting hard to remember all the people that had come and gone since the shows inception. Maggie had learned how to be friendly, welcoming and kind without getting too close. The lesson was learned through time and tears.

"I've met some of them. Good people I think…" Michonne agreed.

"Hey…" they all turned towards the voice.

"Hey Paul," Maggie greeted. Paul was one of the new cast members. They would be filming their first scene together in a few hours.

"Or should we call you Jesus," Michonne chided the young man with long dark blonde hair. He'd told them a few days earlier that his friends call him Jesus.

They all casually laughed.

"Either one is fine with me," he responded after the laughter died down, "I'm just really excited to be working with you all. The table read was one thing, but this is the real deal."

"We're looking forward to it," Rick added.

They talked a little longer about the upcoming shoot.

"Maggie, I was hoping I could run this scene with you while the others prepare for the road trip shots," He had a script in his hand.

"Sure, Paul," she smiled and looked at her other companions, "I'll see y'all later."

It was a moment that Rick was not going to let get by him. He quickly walked over to Michonne, knowing that she would bolt the moment the others were gone. He noted their surroundings and lack of privacy, "Michonne…could I treat you to a cup of coffee so we can talk?" He asked quietly.

The cheerfulness that exuded from her face just seconds earlier while Paul and Maggie stood next to them was gone, "I don't think so. There's not anything that I have to say to you." If they were going to have a conversation, which she wasn't sure she completely wanted, they surely would not be having it now.

He cocked his head to the side and looked her in the face.

" _Rick_ …" the director called to him from a large grassy area about sixty feet from where he was standing.

"Sounds like you're needed," she said and then walked away.

x-x-x

It was two o'clock in the morning. He stood in front of the refrigerator – his hand on the opened door as he stared at the contents which hadn't changed since he stood in the exact same spot two hours earlier. Another sleepless night. _Why didn't she ever tell me?_ It was the same question that had haunted him for the past day and a half. _Why?_

"I should've pressed harder; insisted that she tell me why she stopped talking to me." He told his empty kitchen as he closed the door to the icebox.

He walked out of the kitchen and stopped in his dark and barely lived in living room. ' _She made it clear that she wants nothing to do with me.'_ His eyes were on the pictures of him and RJ which were sprawled across the wall, but his mind was on her. ' _I have to, but how can I? Telling her some of it would mean that I'd have to tell her all of it_.' He slowly strolled back to his room, rubbing his face and running his hands through his hair.

He looked at the crumpled blanket on his bed upon entering the bedroom; the evidence of his sleeplessness apparent, ' _she's so damn stubborn I may have to handcuff her to a chair to get her to listen to me,_ ' he smiled and dropped back into the cold sheets. ' _Handcuffs it is then_ ,' he laughed and kneaded his pillow before attempting to give himself over to the dream fairy once again.

x-x-x

Michonne smiled at the face illuminating her phone's screen. Once he stopped looking at her like she was from another planet, and she stopped seeing him as just some kid, they became friends. They moved from being strangers forced to work together to forming a special bond. He was her heart.

"Hello…"

"Hey, Michonne. What's up? What are you doing? Are you coming over tonight? It's dad's birthday party, remember?" He excitedly rambled.

"Woah. Hold on. Did you use your mom's cappuccino machine again? And what are you doing up so early?" She was only a few minutes away from the parking lot. The morning drive had been uneventful.

"Whatever. Are you coming over tonight? And…look, I wanna make sure you set some tickets aside for me..." just like any bright and talented teenager, all his thoughts were converging at once.

"Carl, you do realize the movie hasn't even wrapped yet? It'll be at least a year and a half..."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know," he interrupted, "I'm just putting my request in early," he laughed, not letting her off the hook.

"Okay young man. I'll definitely put some tickets aside for you," she told him; smiling at how special he was.

"I knew you would," his cocky tone jumping through the phone. He was her consummate cheerleader.

They both laughed.

"What's going on with Rick?" He asked before the laughter died down. The combination of his youth and DNA had not afforded him the ease of double-speak. Carl was a straight shooter. He was probably the most direct person she'd ever known - child or adult.

"Carl..."

"I know about what happened when you guys filmed the couch scene. Everybody was talking about it on set the other day. Did you guys have a fight like people were saying?" Carl had appointed himself the living and breathing buffer between Rick and Michonne. As young as he was, he seemed to realize that it was important to keep their dislike for one another private. The interactions were usually strategically placed. He often went out of his way to have conversations that he could easily include them both. From the outside they seemed to be good friends – much like the friends and family that they portrayed onscreen.

"We didn't have a fight. We had words. Granted, they weren't exactly nice words..." the young man was incapable of bullshit and she knew her words would not go unchallenged.

"I know we've talked about it before, but I still don't get it. Ricks a cool guy. And you're super cool. Why don't you like him?" She was struck by his question. There was a longing in his mini interrogation that was new. The young actor had no hidden agendas. He just simply wanted his two friends to get along.

Over the past couple of years she had taken comfort in the wall guarding her heart. She leaned on the wall for support when it seemed that emotion might seep through. Her relationship with her cast mates was purely surface; " _The only people who can hurt you are the ones that you care about. I'll never allow myself to get hurt again,_ " it was her mantra. She kept them at arm's length. The exception was Carl. He wouldn't allow distance. He broke through every barrier and landed directly in her heart. The breach had allowed others like Maggie, Morgan, and Carol to slip in.

"Honestly Carl, I don't feel like having this conversation right now," even as she said the words she knew he wasn't going to let her off the hook that easily.

"Michonne…" it came out as a whine.

"I'll be at your house tonight," she confirmed before he could voice his continuing confusion over the unspoken feud between two people he cared so deeply for. She was sure that Carl had extended the dinner invitation to Rick as well. She sighed, shaking off the annoying thought.

"I hope your mom makes her famous chocolate cake…"

"She already made it," he happily disclosed before launching into his regular Marvel Universe versus DC Comics rant.

x-x-x

Denise Cloyd observed the man and woman sitting on opposite sides of her office couch. Michonne had her arms folded and stared at something on the opposite wall. Rick was slightly hunched forward with his hands on his legs staring at something on or near the bookshelf. This was their last session. She had this one final shot to completely clear the air between these two. Michonne's openness the day before was an eye opener. It was only half of the story; an important half, but half none the less.

"I'd like to start this session by expressing my gratitude to the both of you," Denise began, "It's not easy to let go of secrets that you've had for a long time. Michonne…" she looked directly at the dark beauty, "thank you for being so open." Michonne nodded.

"So…this is our final session. We made lots of progress, but I think it's important that we discuss what you revealed in our previous session," she smiled and hesitated giving her reluctant participant an opportunity to look in her eyes.

"I'm curious about why you never confronted Rick about what you overheard. Sounds like you two were friends…"

"I already answered that," Michonne snapped.

"No. Not really," Denise remained calm and never dropped her smile, "you said you walked away and never spoke with him or trusted him again. That's actually the exact opposite of confronting him," she adjusted her glasses and her smile became less pronounced.

Michonne released a long sigh and dropped her hands to her side. She did not respond.

"I think that Rick wanted to address what you said, maybe…"

"It doesn't matter now. And I'm not interested in what he has to say." She spat before Denise could elaborate. She was ready for this to be over. Recounting everything brought back memories, thoughts and feeling that had long ago been pushed down. She wasn't ready to deal with their reemergence.

Rick turned to face his ex-friend and co-star, "I realize that you're not interested in what I have to say. I completely understand. But you're gonna listen." He cocked his head to the side and returned her glare; leaning his body forward, "Maybe you'll always hate me…but you're gonna give me the courtesy of hearing me out," he had resolved that this was the time to tell the whole story; not hold back any part of the truth. Her cold demeanor would not deter him.

She folded her arms and turned her head towards the door, ' _I could care less what you have to say.'_

Rick sat back and faced Denise. He ran his hands over his face. The thoughts had turned over and over in his head. Two sleepless nights and the only thing that he knew for sure was that he had to tell it – All of it.

"It was not an easy time on the set…" Michonne sighed loudly when he began. He paused, glanced at her with narrowed eyes, and decided to ignore the overly dramatic actress, "None of the actors were happy about the decision to kill off Andrea's character. I considered Andrea a friend. When you're friends with a cast member and the person leaves the show you're on, or the film you're working on wraps, it's…unsettling. Much like graduating from high school or college, you say you'll keep in touch, but life always gets in the way. Get together's become few and far between – as do phone calls. Eventually the person who you once considered a friend just becomes someone that you use to know. So, the day was gonna be difficult. It would be the beginning of an end. It wasn't just her…it was all the friends that I no longer saw. You see them at some conventions, but that's it." He stopped for a moment and reached for his water bottle; never looking at Michonne. He took three huge gulps before continuing.

"I got to the set early. It was a hard time for me. My wife and I were having problems…well; we were having more problems than we usually did. Honestly, it had gotten worse over the past year. It's…uh…it's not something that I talked about with anyone," he ran his hands over his face again.

"Rick," Denise saw his consternation, "You don't have to share anything that's uncomfortable. But I do appreciate you sharing this with us." She looked at Michonne whose back was turned away from both she and her co-star.

"Thank you Denise. This is something that I want to say…to tell," he drank more of his water before continuing…

"It's not that I was embarrassed about my marriage…or rather the downfall of my marriage. I just didn't figure anyone was really interested. We all have things in our lives that we deal with. I wasn't gonna burden my friends with my failings," he looked over Denise's shoulder towards the window…

"Anyway, I knew that day would be tough. When I got to my trailer I started looking over the script again. It was really just something to do, because I'd already memorized it. After a while, I started going through my phone, checking text messages and emails. My wife had, again, accepted an invitation in both our names without checking with me first. It was one of our biggest issues. This particular invite was for her cousins ' _travel the world_ ' party." He stopped and laughed sarcastically; an inside joke that the other two people in the room were not yet privy to.

"Her cousin and I had never gotten along, and now I was expected to fly to California to celebrate her decision to travel around the world for six months. So…yeah, I was pretty annoyed. Lori was on the west coast but I didn't care. I decided to call her," he lamented the memory…

"When she answered, for a moment, I thought that maybe we could have a civil conversation. But…probably rightly so, she was annoyed that I'd called her so early. I informed her that I wasn't flying to California for the party. At first she didn't say anything. I expected her to hang up since she wasn't arguing with me. And then…" he looked away from the window and smiled at Denise. He inhaled, holding in the air that would allow him to reconsider what he was prepared to say. The air was slowly released…

"She lit into me…didn't hold back on her words, " _you jump whenever your little girlfriend has an event, but you can't come to a party to celebrate something that my favorite cousin is excited about? How do you think that makes me feel?'_ " He relayed his ex-wife's words with the air of contempt that she'd expressed during their ill-fated conversation two years earlier.

Rick was aware that his words, especially the word _girlfriend_ , left a lingering question in the air - one that he would not yet answer. He glanced around the room, resting his eyes again on the small bookshelf, and continued his tale…

"In hindsight…they say it's twenty-twenty, right?" He chuckled, "I should've just ignored the email. I shouldn't've called her…and I probably should've just gone to the damn party…hindsight right?" he paused for a moment…

"We continued arguing until Daryl showed up at my door. I wasn't sure how much he'd overheard. The look on his face told me that he'd probably heard a lot. Once I hung up the phone, he asked me straight out about the girlfriend he heard Lori shout…" he looked away from the book titled _Understanding the Human Psyche_ that he'd zeroed in on, and faced the kindly therapist…

"I didn't have a girlfriend," he looked at Michonne's back. She had shifted, but kept her eyes on the opposite wall, "I never cheated on my wife. Ever…but…I had a friend that meant a lot to me. When she invited me to the openings of her plays, to hang out at a movie, to local galleries, to anything, I'd go. Most of the time it wasn't just me that she'd invite, but I always felt like…like…it was nice; Lori started calling her my girlfriend because…" he kept his eyes on her – the back of her. She shifted again; clearly growing uncomfortable. Her arm moved up to her chest. He knew she was moving the pendant on her necklace side to side.

"…Guess I don't really know why…but it was a point of contention," he turned to face Denise.

"I told Daryl that Lori was jealous of Michonne. He asked me if I had a…um…if I had a thing for Michonne," he glanced in her direction; the subtle movements of her body a telling sign of her unease.

"I told him that I didn't. We were friends and nothing more. He said ' _that's what it sounds like'_ to him _._ He asked me why I didn't wanna fly to California; figuring there was some kind of link between me not wanting to go to the west coast, and Michonne. I told him that Lori's cousin is ' _pretentious…kinda like she's better than the rest of us because she speaks French_.' I had already told Lori that right now was a stressful time..." he rested his hand on his forehead…

"It wasn't just her cousin though. There was a part of me that wanted her to come back to Georgia and maybe…I don't know…maybe try to understand that it wasn't just about Andrea. I was spiraling. Just once I wanted her to catch me…just to understand what it all meant to me…" he stood and walked to the window that he'd previously been transfixed by. Pedestrians were going about their regular day on the street below.

"…Maybe just this one time she could put something that mattered to me ahead of herself. That's why I refused to go to California. But, I won't put it all on her. There were things that mattered to her that I never showed any interest in. I probably should've. Hindsight…" he paused before turning to look at the women and smiled, "I showed Daryl the ' _travel the world_ ' invitation on my phone with Lori's cousin holding her passport with a caption reading, _Bonjour Mon Ami'_. We laughed. As ridiculous as the whole thing was…it was good finally talking about everything with Daryl."

The noises beyond the small office were indiscernible. Michonne coughed lightly as she turned to face their young moderator. Silence befell the room as Rick took his seat. The awkwardness that now took a passing residence in the room was even more uncomfortable than the contentious one that generally hung in the stratosphere between them.

"Rick," Denise spoke into the thick uneasy permeating the room, "Thank you. Thank you for your honesty. I know that it probably wasn't easy to open up the way you did." She smiled at the anxious man in front of her. He returned the smile with a nod of the head.

She looked at the equally angsty actress who had remained completely silent during Ricks admission. Her eyes dropped down to the notes. _How do I want to address this?_

"Michonne—"

"Hold on a minute Denise," Rick interrupted, "I just need to say this…"

He glanced at Michonne for a moment with the hopes that she would look at him. She kept her eyes glued to the therapist.

"I always figured that you somehow realized that I liked you as more than a friend. I've never been in a situation like that before. It was inappropriate," he confessed, "I know the kind of woman you are and I was embarrassed for the way I felt. When you abruptly ended our friendship without telling me why…I knew I deserved it. I couldn't admit to Daryl or even myself that my interest in you was…beyond friendship. I was attracted to you and…I'm sorry for…for everything," He exhaled. There it was. _Finally_. The burden that had weighed him down for so long was released.

"I just needed to say that."

Denise smiled at Rick, wordless, letting him know that she appreciated his honesty.

"Again…um…thank you for being so forthright," she smiled and then looked back at Michonne.

"Is there anything that you'd like to say?" She asked with both professional and not-so-professional hopefulness.

"I'm not sure what to say," it was a truthful statement. Her mind went in every direction.

At the same time she had what she called a _crush_ on him, he was feeling the same way. His words rang true for her; it was inappropriate. But she couldn't deny how much she enjoyed his company. She'd never felt like that with anyone else - a truth that she could never admit out loud.

There was _that_ narrative written by everyone who was not her; Michonne is smart, and wise, and talented, and funny, and a whole a lot of positive adjectives...but Michonne does not look at a married man. Michonne does not think romantically about married men. Michonne does not become attracted to her married friend.

"Michonne..." Denise could see the rabbit hole that the woman before her was tunneling through and decided to end the journey, "What are you thinking about? I know you spent a lot of time being angry. A lot of time shutting yourself off from not just Rick, but others that could hurt you. You've held onto that pain for a long time. You probably found a certain solace in it. And now it's something you can...release." Her eyes bore into the soft brown eyes staring at her, "share with us what you're thinking."

"I'm not really sure what I'm thinking right now," It was only part of the truth. Her mind had gone in so many different directions that there was no _one_ thought that held court. The only single thought that rose above all the others was _, 'I can't look at him…not right now. I need to get out of here'._

"I'm certain that there are lots of thoughts going through your mind right now...why don't you share one of them," she gently prodded. Having watched the staunchly bullheaded twosome for the past few visits there were some things that she'd gleaned. First and foremost she was dealing with people who had an attraction to one another. The attraction scared them both so much that they turned it into acrimony so they wouldn't have to deal with it.

"I…" she ran her hands over her legs which were covered with her favorite black jeans, "Um…I feel stupid." She stopped.

"There's no judgement here Michonne. You shouldn't feel stupid," the counselor quickly informed her.

"You can—"

"I liked him too," she hurriedly admitted before Denise could continue. The feeling of being back middle school washed over her. The nervousness around a boy you like. The butterflies wreaking havoc on your stomach when said person in the vicinity. _I walked in here a woman, and now I'm a pimply faced adolescent all over again._ She almost laughed at the absurdity. She stared down at her hands which were not nearly that interesting but allowed her to divert her eyes from the therapist and the actor.

 _Say what you need to say Michonne. This is the time to just say it_.

"I knew it was wrong… I didn't plan it and I would never have done anything…" her short-lived adolescence taking backseat to her truth, "I enjoyed being with him…I guess as much as he enjoyed being with me. And I felt bad. But I also felt good. I looked forward to going to work. Our interactions meant a lot to me. And when I overheard that conversation…" she peered at her wringing hands for an instant, "I wasn't just hurt. I was broken hearted." She stopped. It had all tumbled out; the things that she wanted to say and things that she wanted to keep private.

She was now emboldened. This would be her narrative. She knew that she, and not anyone else, would write her story.

She turned to face Rick. He was staring at her. This was the first time that she'd allowed herself to really look at him. Once her feelings towards him grew beyond platonic, guilt didn't allow her to look at him too closely, or for too long. And then, the overheard conversation occurred. But now…

She began to stir in her seat. _Have your eyes always been like that_? She instantly wanted to look away from the most beautiful eyes she'd ever seen. She reached for her water – not looking away from him. She unscrewed the top and quickly quenched her dry throat.

"I should've told you what I heard; confronted you. I—"

"No. I wanted to press harder. Convince you to talk to me. I just…I felt like a cheater. I wasn't sure what I wanted, but I knew it wasn't right." He stopped. The sincerity in his eyes, on his face, was undeniable. She looked away from his eyes which seemed to bore into her soul and landed her gaze on Denise's shoes.

The silence which lasted no more than thirty seconds felt like an eternity. Denise cleared her throat and thanked both of her current charges for being so open and honest. _'I'll let you two discover what's been evident to me since I met you. Oh what fun you'll have._ ' She gave herself an internal Hi-five.

For the remainder of the session she gave them each tips on addressing stressful situations in productive ways. _Dealing with Conflict in a Healthy Way_ was the pamphlet that she handed them both. They smiled and nodded.

"Well, it was really a pleasure meeting you both. Please don't be a stranger. I'd love it if either of you would drop by one day…let me know how you're doing. I'm a fan of the show, so of course I'll be watching you," she laughed. They hugged her in turn before she retreated to her office.

Rick opened the outer office door - Michonne walked through. Their stride towards the elevator was slow and quiet. Rick pushed the button.

"I wonder if we're going to get rain. As humid as it's been I figure rain should be on the way," she quietly guesstimated.

"Yeah," he agreed while glancing down at the pamphlet in his hand.

The ding and illuminated number above the elevator alerted them of its arrival.

They stepped into the very small box. The tension that had existed between them for just over two years had morphed into something else. There was awkwardness. A magnetic pull. Neither knew how to address it. They rode the elevator in silence.

She couldn't look at him, ' _I should say something. What?_ _He smells so good. How can this be happening? Damn. Has he always smelled this good?_ ' her eyes stayed on the two white panel that met in the middle while her hand rested lightly on her necklace.

He kept his eyes on the pamphlet as he turned through the six pages continually, _'I can't believe she felt that way about me. Maybe she still does. She has a boyfriend_. _Or I know she did. How do I ask? What if she doesn't feel that way anymore?_ ' He shifted his stance.

The only sound heard on the bottom floor of the building was the clanking of Rick's boots as they strode towards the exit. He stepped in front of her and opened the door to the street. He looked back at her. She was staring at him but had stopped walking. He let the door go and stepped back into the building.

"Rick…" she started but wasn't sure exactly what to say, so she paused. Her heart was beating so fast that she was sure he could see it through her shirt.

"Thank you for being so honest. I appreciate it," she told him.

He walked up to her. She had the most beautiful eyes. He always noticed but never allowed himself to focus on them too long. The black jeans that she wore caressed every curve of her body in the most sensual way. She wore a black and yellow T-shirt that modestly showed off both her flat stomach and her voluptuous breasts. His eyes stopped on her lips. The red lipstick that adorned them was nearly gone but the natural red of her lips were just as appealing. He was close enough to smell perfume which reminded him of a day at the beach.

"I should thank you," his tone was quiet, his inflexion gentle, "You're the one that had the guts to finally say something…admit the hurt that you've had all this time. I'll never be able to apologize enough for what you thought I said about you," he reached out and touched her hand. She looked down at their hands and intertwined hers with his. She looked back into the eyes that for only the second time since she'd known him she allowed herself to really see. He was a beautiful man.

"Guess we're both pretty cool," She laughed, "I'm borrowing Carl's favorite word." They both began laughing; slowly releasing the others hand upon exiting the building. Rick walked with her to the parking lot and over to her car. She pressed her key fob unlocking the doors. He opened the door for her. That newly unnamed tension settled between them again.

He cleared his throat before asking, "Are you going to Carl's tonight?" She nodded.

"Yes, I'll be there," her voice was throaty in a way that she barely recognized ' _What the hell was that?_ ' Her eyes were transfixed on his.

"I'll see you there then," he said, not breaking their eye contact. His words sounded sexy in a way that she was pretty sure he didn't intend. He took her hand.

"Alright," she managed to say in a whisper. She squeezed his hand before letting go and then got into the car. ' _God you're so beautiful._ _Your lips. I've never seen lips so damn sexy. Stop Rick!_ _'_ He gave her a moment to sit and then leaned into the opened door and slowly kissed her cheek – lightly touching the corner of her mouth. His lips lingered several seconds before he rose and stepped back, ' _so freakin' soft'_.

She didn't realize her eyes had closed until she opened them to see him staring at her. _'You smell so incredible. I'm gonna have your scent on me for the rest of the day. 'I am definitely not showering for a while.'_ She smiled and then softly giggled. His face looked flush and had become a pale shade of red.

He smiled back, never taking his eyes off of hers, "Um…See you tonight," he breathlessly mumbled before gently closing her car door.

* * *

A/N: As you can see, I wasn't able to wrap this short story up in my planned three chapters. It was too long...lol. One more chapter should do it. Please review and let me know what you think. Blessings and thank you again for reading :-)


	4. Chapter 4 - The Fimbres House Rules

**Chapter 4 – The Fimbres House Rules**

Elm trees lined the streets of the upper middle class residential neighborhood nestled in the small suburb of Atlanta. Paved sidewalks on Walk Avenue ended two hundred feet from the entrance of an unassuming driveway at end of a private cul-de-sac. Jutting from the large brick columns at the foot of the ingress was a black iron wrought steel gate gingerly hidden by an expanse of leaves and bushes. The dual swing gate stood open, as it normally did, on the days when guests were expected. Once entering the property, the one acre of land revealed vegetation as far as the eye could see.

Maple trees with leaves ranging from vibrant orange to the darkest of green were embedded along the winding path leading to the residence. The sprawling trees – some reaching one hundred feet tall - served as both an awning on the sunniest of days, and a barrier from the prying eyes of adoring fans. The area was far removed from the noises of a distant city. The only sounds were the occasional motor boats on the lake, and nature's many sized critters.

Nestled among the foliage was the very modern and mildly extravagant Fimbres home. Large windows adorned the front of the two story rust colored country barn house with white shudders and brick mounting.

The spacious house and massive acreage was a far cry from Michonne's upscale condominium located in the heart of Atlanta; which was complete with a doorman, building security and private elevators.

She parked alongside the half dozen or so cars stationed in no particular order or direction near the front door. Before she could knock on the partially ajar door it was flung open and she was lovingly accosted.

It was like being wrapped in a blanket of sweet adulation. Michonne had barely made it through the front door before being grabbed and held in a tight embrace. She smiled and held tight to the tall, somewhat plump woman whose medium length reddish-brown hair smelled like rose pedals.

"I'm so glad you could make it," Gina expressed mid-hug.

Michonne had formed a genuine bond with Gina and Peter Fimbres over the past three years. They would invite her to dinner every chance they could. The relationship was mutually beneficial. Gina and Henry enjoyed her stories of world travel, and being new to Georgia, Michonne was always happy for the company.

The couple warmed up to the accomplished actress quicker than their son. Carl looked at the fierce-sophisticated-French speaking actress like she was an oddity from his comic books. He kept his distance. As for Michonne, she was more than fine with limiting her interaction with Carl to only required on-screen filming. Children are the future… _and all the other politically correct things you're supposed to say_ , but she had no true interest in them.

Neither actress nor her young co-star really had too much use for the other. After working together for a few months, they were given scripts where their characters had nearly an entire episode based around them bonding. Life imitated art when, after seven days of filming, they let down their guards with one another. The seeds of apprehension that existed between them quickly changed and blossomed into a friendship. They soon had an unbreakable bond built on a foundation of mutual trust and understanding.

"As if I really had a choice," Michonne said after Gina released her from the warm hug; referencing the young man that they both knew was like a dog with a bone when it came to having his way.

"What can I say, my son thinks the sun rises and sets on you," Gina laughed and patted Michonne on the arm. Gina Fimbres was an openly kind person. There was no surprise that Carl was the type of human being he was – it was in his DNA.

"Mutual appreciation society I guess," she cheekily responded while they strolled further into the foyer.

The immediate Fimbres family comprised of Peter, Gina, Carl and Jilly. Carl's younger sister was not interested in acting, which was a relief to her overtaxed parents. Keeping up with Carl's career was more than enough for them.

Their extended family was not very large – there were a few aunts, uncles and cousins. All birthday, anniversary and holiday celebrations generally brought out the same relatives. Rick and Michonne were usually the only non-family members invited to the Fimbres celebrations. Rick would bring RJ from time to time, but even when he was still married, his wife never attended.

The parties were never formal. Beyond the rule that everyone had to relax and have fun, there were only four Fimbres house rules.

Michonne and Gina made their way over to a few of the Fimbres family members. The actress was hugged in turn before the usual third degree began-

Rick had been at the party for about thirty minutes. He'd been distracted since leaving Denise's office. Michonne consumed his every thought. Boldly kissing her on the cheek was completely out of character for him. Though his ex-sheriff's deputy television alter ego was bold and self-assured, Rick Grimes was anything but. _Where did I get the hutzpah to kiss her?_

Their interaction had caused more than just an embarrassing erection, it had also brought with it feelings that he was sure neither were quite ready to deal with.

His acting skills permitted him to appear engaged in the discussion he was having with Peter, Ted and Alvin. But, truthfully, he was just biding his time. The payoff eventually happened. He watched her enter the room with Gina. He internally perked up when he saw her. She was wearing a flowing yellow summer dress that stopped just below her knees. The loose fit of the colorful garment did not hide the roundness of her rear or the ample perk of her breasts. The heeled blue sandals she wore accentuated her long and toned legs, _'Damn. So damn beautiful.'_

He took a sip of his drink while imperceptibly staring as she sailed across the room with their hostess. The gentle sway of her hips had him transfixed. Her sexy, classy and casual glide was not something that could be taught, ' _she was born that way_.' He smirked, raising one eyebrow and then subtly chuckling.

Ted thought the actor's current facial expression was in relation to the story he was regaling the men with about finding the perfect engine for the car he was rebuilding. He smacked Rick on the back…

"That's really cool, right?" He cheerfully asked seeing that the television star was clearly interested in his story; oblivious to Rick's lack of focus.

"Yep, it is." Rick distractedly agreed. He looked over to where _she_ stood-

"…Michonne, you have to tell us something. I mean, just nod," Aunt Ilda giggled, refusing to give up on getting some information on the upcoming episode.

"Yeah, just blink once if Perry was actually bit, and two times if he wasn't," Cousin Seth added, causing the giggle to turn into a full-fledged laugh-o-rama. Michonne shook her head and swatted the arm of the overzealous fan.

"You guys leave her alone," Gina chimed in, "If Pete and I can't get it out of Carl—do you really think you have a chance of getting it out of Michie?"

As she glanced around the room her eyes landed on Rick. He was speaking with Peter and two men -Peter's uncle Ted and his cousin Alvin. Her heart sped up. She quickly looked back at Gina who was jokingly admonishing her relatives for accosting her.

She tried to stay present in the ongoing topic being discussed but her mind remained elsewhere. The actress peeked over Ilda's shoulder to again ogle Rick. He was sipping his drink. His faded blue jeans hugged his slim but muscular hips in a way that she'd tried for years not to notice. His dark t-shirt showcased pecks that seemed to just come out of nowhere, _'Have you always been built like that?'_ His dark hair had recently been cut, minimizing the amount of curls he had recently been sporting.

The stubble on his face, the face that had so seductively brushed her cheek earlier, was a little more pronounced _._ She was awestruck as he raised the clear plastic cup to his lips, ' _Those lips. Good God! Have they always been that pink? That…stop it Michonne.'_ She lightly shook her head and looked back at Ilda in an attempt to catch up with whatever topic was being discussed.

"Don't be so impatient Seth. You'll find out soon enough…" Gina admonished.

Michonne's eyes drifted back in _his_ direction. Her gaze lingered a few seconds longer than planned. They made eye contact; momentarily locking eyes.

He smiled wide and mouthed, " _hello_." Her hand unconsciously went to the gold necklace she wore before mouthing, " _hello_ ," in response.

"…Michie, your career is on fire right now…" Aunt Ilda interjected into a conversation that Michonne was not currently following, "I mean, the show, the play and the movie," she touched the mildly distracted actress with her index finger and made a "sizzle" sound. They all laughed.

"Thank you," she said, "It's been a serious whirlwind. But I won't complain."

After their silent greeting, Rick had to speak to her. He politely excused himself from the less than riveting chat about automobiles and strode with purpose across the room.

"…Michie," Cousin Tina had joined the small group while Michonne was feasting both her eyes and thoughts on Rick, "Did you hear me?"

"Oh, Tina, I'm sorry," Michonne looked into the face of the somewhat perplexed twenty something young woman, "what was your question?"

"I was asking about Daryl. At Carl's birthday party a couple months ago you said he had a girlfriend. Just checking to see if that's still the case," she laughed. Her mother Ilda popped her on the shoulder…

"Tina—have you no shame?" She pursed her lips, shaking her head at her daughter's inappropriate question.

"You're right, Mom. I have _no_ shame," she smirked. Laughter again broke out.

"What's so funny…?" A very southern drawl washed over the group. Everyone turned to see the smiling face of the actor as he approached.

There were four rules that everyone who attended a Fimbres family party abided by:

*No more than two alcoholic drinks if you were driving home – Rule Number One

*Know the difference between the recycle bin and the regular trash bin – Rule Number Two.

*No less than three hugs per person – Rule Number Three

Both Peter and Gina Fimbres voiced and strictly enforced the first three rules. The fourth rule, however, was an unspoken one that everyone discretely enforced…

The 'Michonne and Rick must always have at least a three person buffer at all times' rule was number four.

Much like the unvoiced concerns of their co-stars and colleagues, no one said anything to them directly. The unspoken forth Fimbres rule had been in effect for nearly two years when Gina noticed the coldness between the actors. There was a carefully orchestrated guests-move-around dance that happened when both Michonne and Rick were in attendance at a Fimbres family event.

The two generally kept their distance. There was mild shock when Rick walked up and joined a group that Michonne was a part of. What was even weirder was that his co-star didn't seem to mind.

"Oh, Rick. Hey," Tina stepped away from Michonne and closer to Rick, "I was asking Michie about Daryl's relationship status," the young blonde was nothing if not persistent.

Rick laughed, "I don't think his relationship status has changed since the last time you asked," he discretely glanced at his co-star.

"See Tina—you need to move on and stop being a stalker," Seth added with a snicker.

"Shut up, Seth," she glowered at her slightly older male cousin. Rick ignored the young woman's faintly comic outburst…

"By the way, Hi everyone," he announced to the small collection of party goers; his eyes remained on Michonne. The others attempted to not show their surprise at his brazen move.

"Hey, Rick," Ilda and Seth said in unison. He and Seth shook hands. Ilda gave him a quick hug. Michonne waited for the petit aunt to release him before speaking…

"Hi, Rick," Michonne said barely above a whisper. There was no attempt on his behalf to hide his ever increasing stare. She shifted her stance.

"So Rick, I need either you or Michie to put in a good word for me," Tina said, looking between the actors; finally noticing that something was different.

"Tina," Michonne nudged the young woman and giggled, "Daryl is too old for you."

The millennial huffed, "No he isn't," not going down without a fight. She turned her head towards Rick, and then back to Michonne, "Rick may be too old, but Daryl isn't." They all laughed.

"Daryl and I are the same age young lady," Rick said with a half-smile.

"Well, you seem super old. Like an uncle," she protested, "But Daryl—he's hot…" she snapped her fingers and wiggled to the non-existent music; causing further laughter.

"Tina, you are way too much," Gina said as she laughed; her facial expression echoing the amusement of everyone else.

The others were focused on the twenty something woman who was completely comfortable within her own skin. But Rick was looking at _her_.

"Michonne," he said, his eyes roving down her body, and then slowly back up, "you look beautiful as usual," he swirled his drink around without taking his eyes off of her. This was not the Rick she was used to. He was openly coming on to her—in front of everyone.

The contentious barrier that had existed between them for so long was now gone.

Her hands lightly brushed the non-existent wrinkles in her dress, "Thank you. You're looking pretty dapper yourself," her eyes wide as the words left her mouth with a throaty inflection that she had not intended.

He stepped around Tina and closer to his co-star, "How was your drive? Did you get stuck behind that big accident?" his blue eyes didn't strayed from her wide brown ones.

"Um, yeah. It wasn't that bad though," she smiled as her hand moved up and found its way to her necklace.

"Well," he raised one eyebrow and smirked, "Since I know you have this obsessive thing about timeliness, I figured it was either that or some kind of alien abduction," he chuckled and stepped one foot closer.

"You're hilarious Grimes," she offered him a close-lipped smile; "I was just running a little late." After the kiss he gave her on the cheek she was confused. She was open to a friendship, but that kiss was something else. She got home and spent the next few hours contemplating what it all meant. Her admission—His admission. What did it mean for them? She vacillated between attending the party and not attending, until deciding that she really wanted to see _him_.

"An alien abduction is sounding more and more plausible," he was so close that she could smell the mix of fruit and alcohol on his breath.

"That's funny. But I can assure you that I am all woman," she felt immediately flushed upon hearing the flirtatiousness in her own words. She looked away just as his eyes grew wide.

"Hmm...Exactly what an alien would say," he winked and ran his free hand over his face.

"That's true. Guess you're just gonna have to take my word for it," her step towards him closed the remaining space between them. She could see his face becoming red. The throbbing between her legs increased.

He could smell her sweet scent. She wore it to every party. He'd learned years earlier that it was Tiffany's. The intoxicating fragrance had frustrated him for years; aroused him for years. She was something that he couldn't have. He was turned on and could feel his body reacting. He adjusted his stance as she stood directly in front of him.

"I don't know—I might need to check under your bed for a pod," he cocked his head slightly and softly laughed. She sucked in her bottom lip and slid the pendant on her gold necklace from side to side. They didn't break eye contact.

"What in the hell is goin' on around here?!" The fiery young blonde harmlessly demanded while looking back and forth between the two people that were supposed to hate each other.

"Tina…" Ilda barked at her daughter.

"I'm confused…since when do y'all like each other?" Tina continued, completely ignoring her mother's attempt to shut her down, "Maybe there was some kinda alien abduction, or maybe we're in the Twilight Zone," her lack of a filter was nothing new to anyone in the immediate vicinity. The young woman was the older female version of Carl.

"Get a room…"

"That's enough Tina," a mortified Ilda grabbed the young woman's arm and ushered her away; offering an apologetic quasi-smile to the group as she departed. Left behind were a confused Seth and Gina who were trying not to stare at an embarrassed Rick and Michonne. The sexual tension was undeniable and uncomfortable—for all present.

"Um, where's Carl?" Michonne asked, without looking directly at the hostess; gingerly backing away from Rick.

"He's, uh, probably outside still getting those dogs of his situated," she informed them. This was an unease that came completely out of left field. The tension was not the snarky hostility that she was accustomed to when dealing with these two. This was different. She used the napkin in her hand to wipe her forehead…

Gina had only recently heard the term, ' _eye fucking_ ,' but she was pretty sure that _that_ is exactly what was going on, "Um, let me go find him," she dryly chuckled before quickly walking away.

Seth looked at the two actors who were standing with the most amusingly awkward looks on their faces. He realized, maybe a little slower than the others, that he was the third wheel on this tandem bike.

"I'm gonna go grab another drink," he informed them, "would either of you like anything?"

They glanced at the visibly uncomfortable young man…

"No, thank you, Seth" she smiled.

"No. I'm good Seth, Thanks," Rick added.

Seth nodded, spun on her heels, and rapidly beat a path to the kitchen. They watched the tall lanky young man walk as quickly as his long legs could carry him.

Rick turned to face the woman whom he was openly flirting with. ' _I know how I feel. I think you feel the same way._ '

The truth had been brought into the light and spoken out loud. There was no longer any need to bury his true feelings. For the first time since they'd met a few years earlier, he could be honest about how he felt. After watching her drive off earlier in the day, he spent hours introspectively focused on moving forward, ' _What are the actual barriers that would prevent us from moving forward? Like her being in a committed relationship_.'

Either way, he was ready to take the plunge. ' _I want you, all of you, and I don't give a damn who knows._ '

"Looks like we chased everybody away," he said while closing the physical gap between them.

"Apparently so," she agreed.

"… _Rick…Michonne_ ," Carl shouted through the small sea of family members as he entered the house. They watched as he barreled through his relatives, bypassing his mother as she attempted to get his attention.

"When did you get here, Michonne?" He asked once he reached her.

"Not that long ago," she said as they hugged, ruffling his hair.

Everyone in the room pretended not to notice how close the two stood to one another as they spoke to Carl. They saw Michonne's over the top giggles as Rick spoke; his oh-so-subtle touches as he spoke to her. They were comfortable with each other in a way that none in the room had witness for two years. It was more than just comfortability. Rule number four was blown to smithereens.

Gina waited patiently to speak with her friend, the worldly actress. She chatted with her husband, tended to her guests, and was the perfect hostess; all while patiently waiting. Carl had completely usurped the time of his favorite actor and actress. Her son seemed to be completely oblivious to the new dynamic – this magnetic chemistry – that existed between the two adults.

She pounced when she saw Michonne step away from Carl and Rick to grab something from the snack table. Walking quickly to the beauty…

"I don't wanna come off sounding like my wild cousin," she said quietly, in reference to the untamed Tina, "But what exactly _is_ going on with you and Rick?"

Michonne giggled anxiously, allowing herself time to come up with a response.

"Honestly Gina, I don't really know. The only thing I know for sure is that we don't hate, or dislike each other anymore."

"Duh," Gina rolled her eyes and popped Michonne on the arm, "Tell me something that everyone in this room hasn't already figured out—when did this happen?"

"Um…Okay," her giggle not abating, "we had a chance to talk about some, um, some things."

In lieu of verbally responding, the loving hostess wrapped her arms around her friend, "We love you both so very much. Figure out what this is and then go with it. I think it's wonderful, and you both certainly deserve it," she whispered before slowly releasing the embrace. She was suddenly overcome by her depth of affection for the two stubborn thespians.

"Hey," Rick greeted as he came up to the women. Gina was just releasing Michonne from the hug; there were tears in her eyes.

"Everything okay?" He asked cautiously.

"Everything's great," Gina smiled and squeezed Michonne's hand; her face was mildly cherry red from both emotion and embarrassment. "Let me go and make sure all these ne'er-do-wells are following rule number two," Their friend and hostess informed them while coolly wiping her eyes. She turned and headed further into the room.

"Wanna go out on the patio? It's a really nice night," he asked touching the soft arm of his co-star.

"Sure," she said, "I'd like that."

x-x-x

The humidity that usually gripped Georgia in the late days of spring was barely evident. The moonlight was bright, cascading through the many trees that surrounded the house. Rick briefly excused himself to get her something to drink. With the growing tension between them, and the unending flattery from the party goers, she was happy for the momentary reprieve.

He briskly walked through the room, ignoring the stares, to rejoin her on the patio. His feet came to an abrupt stop for a moment. The glow of her dark skin under the natural light of the moon was mesmerizing. She turned and saw him staring at her; she diverted her gaze from his eyes to his hands.

"Thank you," she said reaching for the drink. It had been two years since they'd hung out and he still remembered her favorite drink, ' _the most thoughtful man I've ever known. Keep it together girl. What are you doing to me Grimes?_ ' she smiled graciously, not allowing her thoughts to show.

They began slowly reacquainting themselves with the other. Questions brought sarcastic stares. Answers brought uproarious laughter. As the minutes ticked by, all cautious reserve gave way to a comfortable flow. The many steps that seemed lost during their voluntary exile from each other – or rather her voluntary exile from him – were restored. It only took about forty minutes for them to fall back in step with a friendship that was never truly gone.

"…How do you think the fans will react to our characters getting together—romantically?" he inquired. It was one of the topics they had yet to address.

"I don't know," she glanced down at her drink, "I think it'll probably be like everything else. Some will love it and some will hate it…"

He nodded, "…Some will probably just accept it without much thought."

"You're right…" she skeptically agreed, "but, in a lot of ways, the world hasn't changed. There are still people–black and white–who aren't super comfortable with interracial relationships."

They regarded each other while the words sunk in. She took a drink, sucking the remaining pieces of ice from the glass. He watched her before responding…

"Yeah," he laughed, "I'm from the Confederate south, so yeah, you know I'm well aware of that," he paused before soberly chuckling, "my mom's gonna be over the moon though." He looked into her eyes; they both laughed.

"Your mother is a definite shipper." They laughed harder at the truth in her statement. Dotty Grimes had cornered the actress at a few different conventions and asked her when she and Rick would get together. It was always uncomfortable for Michonne. She never voiced it to anyone, but it always felt to her that Rick's mom wasn't just talking about the characters they played on the show.

"Trust me, I know that she's way over the top when it comes to our characters getting together," he reached over and touched her knee. She delicately crossed her legs, allowing his hand to fall from her exposed skin.

Shifting to stave off the growing heat between them, "Um, though I tried to ignore the oncoming story line, the foreshadowing was there for the pairing," she gazed into the darkness surrounding the patio as a slight breeze blew through the trees, "It makes sense; it's the organic progression of the two characters…" she added matter-of-factly. It was a truth that she could now admit; though it didn't stop her from lamenting incessantly with Sasha about the impending story line.

"Yeah, it makes sense," he agreed, watching her body movements, "but lots of people, maybe because of the comic book or just their own biases, can't see it. We may spend lots of time explaining to fans why the relationship makes sense," he said, and then added, "And dealing with lots of trolls," he smiled.

"Hmm, true," she agreed, skimming his face for lingering thoughts, "Did _you_ know?"

"You mean did I know where the writers were heading?" He asked.

She nodded.

"I guessed. It was obvious where they were heading," he half-grinned, looking back into her eyes, "It's one of the reasons I started getting…a little…uneasy,"

"Why?" she asked.

"You know why…" his half-smile grew into a smile as he tilted his head; playfully throwing her question back at her.

Her eyes dropped down to her glass which was still half-full. She didn't respond.

"I've been conflicted—when it comes to you—for quite a while now. I managed to get over being attracted to you, but…" he lowered his voice and leaned forward, "I was pretty sure I wouldn't be able to control those feelings once we had to be, uh, intimate on set." A closed set still meant ten people present while he had to fake something that wasn't actually fake.

"Oh," she mumbled.

"Pretty frustrating to be attracted to a woman - to fall for a woman- that hates you," he chuckled irreverently.

Purposely ignoring his admission, "I guess I saw what I wanted to see—and didn't see what I didn't want to see," she looked back into his eyes which were currently dark blue with flecks of light sparkling in them, "doesn't make much sense, huh?"

"Makes perfect sense to me," he reached over and rubbed her knee. She looked at his hand and then into his eyes. He removed his hand and sat back. She sat back further into her chair, shifting the position of her crossed legs. There was no denying the sexual synergy that was happening between them.

"So, uh, how's your boyfriend—Mark, right?" He dropped his eyes from her face down to her breasts, then back up to her face.

She tilted her head forward and looked at him through squinted eyes before softly chuckling. "His name is actually Mike, as you well know."

"So how is _Mike_ handling all the things goin' on with your career right now?"

"He's, fine," she put the drink to her lips, "I guess…" she quietly declared before sipping the now watery mojito.

"Is he Really?" His question was unabashedly challenging her response.

"Yes his is," she said, "Anyway, how's RJ?"

Michonne and Rick's son RJ always had a good relationship. They weren't as close as she and Carl, but they had a mutual fondness for each other. In spite of what she thought about the boy's father, she honestly liked him. Much like Rick, RJ was funny, smart, kind, and a true gentleman in the making. And, also like his father, he was exceedingly humble. Her adoration for a young man, who was the living embodiment of a man that she despised, was irony not lost on her.

"RJ is good," he looked at her lips, "So we're changing the subject now I see," he smirked while she mused at his cockiness.

"Yes we are." She smirked back, "How about you? How's that girlfriend of yours?" The best defense is a good offense.

"That's funny Miss Michonne. I can assure you that I haven't had a girlfriend since before I got married. And I haven't been dating; just in case you were wondering," he grinned while watching her subtly fidget.

"Hmm," Yes—she was absolutely wondering.

" _Hey, this is where y'all are hiding_ ," Uncle Jeb shouted as he walked onto the patio.

The night passed quickly. Various members of the family made their way out to the patio to chat with the two television stars. The wish of the television stars to have some privacy was not even considered.

After a few hours of lively discussions, engaging debates, lots of laughter, and enormous amounts of grazing - Rick walked Michonne to her car…

"This was really fun," she remarked as they reached her car. He wanted to take her hand, but was aware of the eyes watching through the large window of the brightly lit house. Carl was in the middle of a head-to-head battle on his PlayStation when they left.

"Yeah, it was," he stepped closer to her. His wide blue eyes pierced her slightly narrowed brown orbs. If lust had a face it most certainly would've been Rick Grimes at the moment. Her heart was pounding, she suddenly felt overheated…

"Rick," she said breathily, "We—uh—we need to figure out what this is and take it slow—plus, I need to talk to Mike," she barely got the words out under the heat of his stare. She didn't need twenty-twenty vision to see that he was preparing to kiss her. He clearly no longer cared about being under the watchful eyes of the Fimbres clan.

"By talk with Mike, you mean break up with him?" He both asked and answered; his head slanted downwards. He took another step forward. Her butt bumped the Lexus.

"You are too much," she uttered, placing her hand on his chest to lessen the tension and break his stare, "We've only just stopped hating each other," she wantonly giggled.

"I've never hated you. Quite the contrary actually…" he raised his eyebrows and leaned forward.

"Umm, oh," her heart drummed with a quickened tempo.

"So, any idea of when that conversation with Mike is gonna happen?" He asked. His final step closed all the space between them. Ignoring her dissent, he gently pinned her against the vehicle. Her arm relaxed and fell to her side.

"You are nothing if not persistent Mr. Grimes," her voice dropped an octave as his sweet warm breath swept over her face.

"Well?" Continuing to ignore her words; he stroked her cheek.

"You think you can, uh, at least give me a couple of days?" she stammered unable to stop staring in his eyes. The determination in those aqua blues sent an electrical current through her; culminating with a deluge of wetness. She squeezed her legs together.

He took her face into his hands and leaned into her. His lips touched hers softly. He wrapped his hands around her waist and pulled her completely off the car; firmly into him. He opened his mouth as she opened hers. Her knees went weak at the combined warmth of their mouths. Butterflies were wreaking havoc on her stomach. He gently sucked her bottom lip before easing his tongue into her mouth.

"Ahhh," she moaned into his mouth. The feeling of losing control was taking over.

The way she tasted, the heat coming from her body and her moan, caused an immediate reaction in him. She could feel the hardness protruding from his pants as he pulled her tighter. She moved her hands up to his neck and then into his hair. He moved his lips to the corner of her mouth. She recaptured his lips and sucked both top and bottom. He squeezed her back; massaging in a slow circular motion. "Mmm," she exhaled; fisting his hair and lightly biting his tongue.

The heat emanating from their clothed love making became overwhelming. This was passion that he hadn't experienced in years. He pulled away. Her lips were swollen and her eyes closed. He leaned back into her, his face flush with hers as his raspy voice wafted into her ear...

"…I know exactly what this is, Michonne," he kissed right below her ear, "And we'll take it slow if that's what you want," his voice was low, "but I hope you won't make us wait for something that was meant to be." The timbre in his voice, the certainty in his words, and the feel of his lips on her face, left every part of her body on fire.

He took the keys from her hand and pressed the button to unlock the doors. He opened her door and then kissed her lips soft and slow.

"Will you let me take you out this Friday?" The low-pitch in his voice sent torrid shivers down her spine. He guided her into the driver's seat.

Her legs were shaky as she sat and placed her hands on the steering wheel, "um, okay," she mumbled, not daring to look back into his eyes. Her gaze travelled down his neck, his chest, and... _'Good God,'_ the bulging outline in his jeans left little to the imagination. She quickly turned her head.

He leaned down and kissed her cheek, huskily whispering, "see ya' soon," before closing the door.

She stilled herself, took a deep breath, and then turned the ignition. The sexually roused television star glanced at her sexually awakened cast mate through the window. He ran his hand over his face and stepped back. Still coming down from the lustful fog; she started the engine, ' _Damn, what am I doing? What the heck am I doing? Jeez...the network, the cast, our careers._ _Shit…I'd better call Mike...and Sasha for that matter.'_

She gave him a little wave before driving off the massive cobble stoned driveway, down the long unpaved path, off the Fimbres property, and into the night.

* * *

A/N: Thank you all so much for reading. Please let me know what you think. Your reviews truly keep me motivated to keep writing. Two more chapters coming up shortly.

Blessings :-)


	5. Chapter 5 - Behind the Scenes, Part 1

**A/N:** Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing this story. Please enjoy.

* * *

 **Chapter 5 – Behind the Scenes, Part 1**

 **Monday**

Filming an entire forty-one to forty-four minute episode generally took around one week. The cast and crew of this very popular television drama based in a post-apocalyptic world besieged by zombies were so adept at their jobs, and skilled in their professions, that sometimes episodes could take even less time. This particular episode was jammed packed with everything; there was little chance that it would be completed in less than one week.

The heat generated from the two leads of the show during the hand holding scene in the RV filmed the week before, was not the type of heat the director was looking for. It was a pain staking experience for all involved; much like the couch scene. The editing team had to work their magic removing Rick's smirky-grimace and Michonne's eye-rolling. But, this was a new week, which held new hope and possibilities.

Monday's shoot was what all the guys called the bedroom shoots. The set was bustling as everyone prepared for the upcoming scenes. Carol's introspective bedroom scene was filmed without a hitch. Rosita and Ken did their closed set boudoir scene. Their scene was more involved, as romantic interactions generally were, but it too went off without a hitch. Interior recordings were much more controlled than those shot on exterior set; chances of environmental mishaps lessened to a nearly infinitesimal level. He thanked the diligent production designer and her staff for their hard work; the attention to detail was extraordinary. Color contrast and variances within the different rooms was exactly what he'd asked for. After hours of work, he was happy to call the final "cut" for the day.

The exhausted director traversed the expansive primary location of the show. He stopped to speak with one of the associate producers about the preparations for the upcoming shoot. Filming was taking place between four different locations. Tuesday would be a much more expansive shoot; more crew, cast members, and props. The line producer joined in the conversation which became much more involved than the director had intended. After speaking for more than twenty-five minutes, he was able to come to a stopping point and say good-bye to the long winded men.

Unlike most scripted television shows, the powers that be invested a lot of time and money into make-up, set design and wardrobe. The teams were sizable. He glanced towards the open trailer where people were still milling around, even though the days shoot was a wrap. Most were done and wandering around the large set awaiting further instruction. Actors were in various stages of makeup for the episodes promotional stills. He watched as the photographer began rounding up the newly 'zombified' extras. Among the fray, he spotted the shows lead protagonist. He stopped, surprised by the man's presence. Rick Grimes was not due on set until the following day.

The very visible rift between the two leads caused ongoing worry behind the scenes. Skeptical that the couples counseling would actually work, the network insisted that producers remain on set during any filming where the two on screen allies, but real life adversaries, shared a scene. The counseling sessions were completed the day before. Only time would tell if the unconventional plan had worked.

He made a beeline to the actor, "Hey, Rick," he was nearly out of breath, "wasn't expecting to see you today," the greeting bordered on accusatory.

"I know. Just came by to introduce myself to some of the new cast members," Rick said. It wasn't the first time the show's lead actor went to the set when he had no scenes. However, his explanation was only partially true. He hadn't seen Michonne since she drove off from the Fimbres house and he was hoping that maybe she would be on set. They'd spent the night talking and getting to know each other again, but he never thought to ask for her number. She no longer had the same one from two years ago.

"I'm sure they appreciate that," the episodes lead executive proffered, extending his hand. It was more of an olive branch than a handshake. Although the men always had a good working relationship, recent events had presented a layer of awkwardness into their interactions.

Rick regarded the man who's once medium length blonde hair had gradually grown long with almost more gray than blonde, and then quickly accepted the unspoken amends. They shook hands.

"I've met most of 'em," he informed the somewhat disheveled exec, observing the few cast members gathered nearby, "nice group 'a folks."

"Yeah," the director agreed. They chatted a few minutes longer about how large the cast had grown, how well the days shoot went, how happy they both were that the humidity had subsided, and a few other safe topics; allowing the elephant to sit comfortably between them.

"Thanks again for coming by today, Rick," his smile caused the crinkles in the corner of eyes to peek from the sides of his glasses, "I'll see you tomorrow," he slapped the hospitable actor on the shoulder before walking away to give guidance to a few roaming crew members.

Rick scanned the area, "Damn," he mumbled. The person he was actually there to see was nowhere in sight. He took a deep breath and skulked towards the edge of the busy lot; greeting several colleagues on the way to his vehicle. The day was a wrap.

x-x-x-x

Sasha called bright and early Monday morning. The two women hadn't spoke since early the prior week. Michonne had left her agent with the impression that she had no intention of fully participating in the network ordered therapy. Now that the counseling was done, she figured the call would come.

Their relationship was a unique one. Beyond being agent and client, they were also good friends. Though Sasha had only been her agent for the past ten years, they'd been friends since college. The cornerstone of their relationship had always been brutal honesty when needed; sprinkled with a huge dose of compassion to offset any bad feelings that arose from the aforementioned honesty. Sasha was the spirited attorney turned agent. Michonne was the stubborn artist turned actress and playwright. The duo was a force to be reckoned with.

The strong-willed artistic actress had no intention of telling her friend about ending things with Mike. She was still working through the complexities of it all. Two days were spent in deep self-reflection; a silent and personal analysis of what it all meant. _'How could this all be happening so fast?'_

After all the tossing and turning in both her head and her bed, the answer became as clear as a full moon at midnight, _'The feelings must've been there for years. Denise would probably say that they were buried feelings and have now been unearthed.'_

Understanding herself better was wonderful, but she wasn't yet ready to disclose anything to her friend about Rick. She still wasn't exactly sure what _it_ was, and being given the third degree by the attorney-agent was the last thing that she wanted. During the conversation she _did_ disclose her intentions to end things with Mike.

"I'm glad you're doing what you need to do. Mike's a good guy—but you gotta do you," was the gist of Sasha's response to the actress' decision to give the handsome man his walking papers; putting a period where a comma once lingered.

The talk with her friend left her energized and prepared to do what she needed to do with her boyfriend. She had to speak with Mike. It was a conversation that should happen in person, _but when?_ She'd left him one voice message and sent two text messages; he'd yet to respond. She stumbled into the kitchen and called him once more…he answered…

"Hello," he answered with an over exaggerated exuberance.

"Hey, Mike," she said with much less energy.

"Michonne, baby, how are you?" He asked with his normal jubilance.

"I'm doing good," she took a deep breath, "I left you a few messages," she was doing her best to keep her tone even.

"Sorry 'bout that. Things have been kinda crazy lately," he informed her.

The two met through a mutual friend. They went out on a few dates and a relationship quickly grew. Mike was the epitome of suave sophistication; being tall, chocolate and gorgeous certainly didn't hurt either. He was a well known sports agent with a burgeoning firm. They were the perfect couple – on paper.

"It's fine," she frowned, "so when are you gonna be back in Atlanta?"

"Should be early next week, you missin' me?" he chuckled.

"Uh…yeah," she was standing in her large kitchen pouring hot water into her mug, "I'd like to talk," she said, uncomfortable with beginning this conversation over the phone.

"Hmm—those words don't usually work out well for the person who needs to be talked to," his casual laugh did little to disguise his growing alarm.

This was a discussion that she wanted to have face-to-face. It felt wrong to do this over the phone. Mike was a good guy. He was there when she needed the warmth of another person; partially filling an emptiness that even an incredible career couldn't. The sex had been good but the infrequency over the past few months taught her that she was okay without it. Rick had, however, awakened a sexual longing that she wasn't even sure existed.

"It's been a while since we've even been in the same city at the same time," she said, dipping her tea bag while quickly making the decision that the conversation needed to happen now; in person seemed undoable, "doesn't really seem like we're—uh—going in the same direction."

Distractedly dipping the now soaked bag, she let out a few audible sighs. The silence on the phone lasted for what seemed like minutes upon minutes.

"You're an incredible woman Michonne," he finally spoke, "but you're right, we've kinda been on different pages for a while."

When they started seeing each other he had every intention of building something real and long-term with the dark beauty. However, their careers made constructing a relationship nearly impossible. They were more than just the much clichéd _ships that pass in the night_ ; it was more than that. The sex was toe curling, but the emotion and passion was severely lacking. There had always been something missing.

"Yeah," she walked into her living room and sat in her favorite wingback chair; gently sitting her tea on the ready coaster.

It was the sweetest and least contentious break up that Mike had ever had. He finally took the time to congratulate her on the career success she was enjoying. It dawned on him as they spoke that he unintentionally ignored her success. He'd never admit it to anyone, but there may have been a smidge of jealousy on his part, _No, not jealousy, I mean, my career is in an upswing too. I don't begrudge her successes. Jealousy is not the correct word—Distant— is a better description._ His thoughts caused him to go overboard on his congratulatory accolades.

They agreed to get together when he was back in Atlanta; falling into casual banter and laughter before coming to the end of their very amicable break-up.

"Michonne, just promise me that you won't close yourself off from having someone in your life." He knew this woman and genuinely wished the best for her.

"I won't…" she smiled as the most beautiful pair of blue eyes popped into her head, "the same goes for you, Mike."

She took a breath of relief that the Mike part of her day was over. The past few days had been nerve racking. The guilt could finally be expelled. She sunk deep into her favorite chair and giggled. Her peace was short lived when her phone rang…

"Hey Michie," her fifth favorite cousin Jenny cheerily greeted, "How are you? So look, a few of us just got into town. Only for a few days—can we crash at your place?"

"Uh—sure Jen," Michonne told her in her kindest and most accepting voice, _'So much for peace.'_ She sunk further into her chair.

x-x-x-x

 **Tuesday**

All the prep work had been going on for hours. The set was ready. Carol and Morgan did their scene in the open grassy area. Maggie and Glenn also had their scene at the primary location of the show as well. Most of the cast was in the scene at the make-shift church. Rick became the living embodiment of his weary character and delivered his scripted speech, on the newly constructed pulpit, with true eloquence. There were hoots and hollers after "cut" was shouted. The remainder of the contentious scene was effortless. Everyone was on their 'A' game. Rick watched _her_ peripherally while he spoke with the executive producer. They had not yet spoken in private. From the moment she arrived on set, either she was flanked with crew members, or he was. He watched her leave….

She slipped away from the set—it was difficult to think clearly in his presence. After the conversation with Mike, she knew that this was a chance to open up to something new. Her inability to speak with Rick for the past few days was frustrating. _Why didn't I think to get his number or give him mine?_

Michonne made her way through her various co-workers who wanted to chat; she eventually made it to her trailer. She entered the metal enclosed room with the intent of refocusing. Thoughts of Rick Grimes swirled in her brain, manifesting in the pit of her stomach. She sat down in front of her vanity mirror and picked up a bottle of water. No sooner than taking a sip from the water bottle did she hear a hearty knock on her door.

"Come in," she shouted.

The door opened and there stood the man who'd consumed her waking and sleeping thoughts for the past three days.

"Hey there," he said upon entry; taking no time to close the door and walk up to her.

"Hey," she responded, her heart picking up speed as he approached. Her stomach was in knots; the butterflies were back.

"How was your weekend?" He asked, fixing his gaze between her eyes and her lips.

"It was good. How was yours?" she watched his face – his expression – he was about two steps ahead in their conversation. He was not interested in a casual conversation about their respective weekends.

"Have you talked to Mike?" He was visibly determined and had no interest in small talk.

"Yes—I've talked to Mike," she smiled, answering his question as casually as possible; her body was in flux as it attempted to figure out what stage of frustration it was in.

"What exactly did you talk about? If you don't mind me asking…" there it was—cocky Rick Grimes.

"I _do_ mind you asking, Rick…" she challenged him with a raised brow and suppressed smile.

"Then just tell me, are you free to date?" He was coming closer and she was jumping out of her skin, "…you did agree to go out with me."

"Mike and I had a very, um, amicable break up," she admitted with her best poker face; no hint of happiness or sadness was evident. His smile grew wider as he made no attempt to hide his approval.

"Michonne," he stepped closer and ran his fingers up her arm, "I realize that I probably went too far with that kiss—I'm sorry…"

"You don't have to be," she interrupted. Her eyes roamed his face before landing on his intense blue eyes, "I was a willing participant in that kiss."

He stroked her face and without further hesitation leaned down and gave her a chaste kiss on the lips. Her lips were wet from the water. He gently wiped his tongue over her moistened lips before pulling back and standing straight.

"I've thought about your lips—nothing but those lips of yours—for the last few days," he touched her face and gave her a small smile. She was processing his words while trying to process her own.

"…The truth is," he continued, "I've thought about your lips and other things for the last few years," his slightly upturned lips was the most mischievous smile she'd ever seen.

"Rick…" she attempted to hush his candid admission, "has anybody ever told you that you kinda have a one track mind?" She admonished coquettishly.

He brushed his hands over her cheek, "No—no one has said that about me, 'cuz you're the only one who has _ever_ had my mind on one track." She turned away from his honest words and piercing stare. She reached for the water bottle; her hands stumbling over the desk and then taking a swallow. He watched her every movement.

Her lips had him hypnotized. The moment she lowered the bottle, his lips were back on hers. It wasn't enough. He parted his lips just enough to pull her lips into his mouth. He sucked the softest and fluffiest lips he'd ever known.

"Mmm," she sighed into his mouth, becoming a more active participant in the kiss by opening her mouth wider; their tongues played a non-competitive match. He ran his hands up and down her curvaceous body as she pulled at the back of his shirt.

A knock at the door broke their seductive entanglement.

"Shit," he mumbled, swiftly backing away from her and peering down at his physical state. He picked up her water bottle and took a seat in one of the cushioned seats near the door.

She wiped her mouth, grateful that her character didn't wear lipstick, "Come in," her voice was low as she tried to pull herself together.

Daryl entered the small trailer, followed by Maggie and Glenn. It was not uncommon for the cast members and friends to spend time together in each other's trailers – their home away from home. However, the two leads did _not_ hang out with the other. Curiosity got the better of them when they saw Rick enter Michonne's portable abode.

Among the polite chatter, the three newcomers closely observed the strong-willed performers. They looked back and forth between the two, not putting words to what they were witnessing. None were actually sure what was happening; though absolutely sure that something was.

" _Everyone is needed on set…_ " came to loud holler from just beyond the crowded trailer.

The newly re-connected friends, and soon to be lovers, were never able to have any more one-on-one time again that day. They did however manage to exchange telephone numbers. Tuesday night did not afford an opportunity to speak, but they were able to exchange a few text messages. Rick did not hold back with his flirtatiousness; leaving little room for doubt that wanted not just sex but a relationship.

Michonne wanted the same, however, where he had no consternation in the least, she had an enormous amount.

x-x-x-x

 **Wednesday**

The stunt coordinator was on set working with a handful of cast members. The stunt men and women stayed close while instructions and demonstrations were given. Weapons experts spoke with their team as the stage was set for the upcoming shoot.

The ex-deputy and his group of survivors infiltrated the satellite location. They invaded the industrial home of their adversaries. He used suppressive fire from an assault rifle to kill three people descending a stairway. It was heart pounding. She wielded her katana while the others moved from room to room murdering their sleeping enemies. There were photographs of victims with brutal headshot wounds- reminiscent of a serial killer; the photos validating the actions of the group. It was intense and a true team effort. A fire alarm blared…"Cut!" The boss shouted.

The set erupted in applause upon hearing the three letter word, for the tenth time since they began the days taping.

The interior scenes were nearly complete for the episode. Everyone was bustling around focused on their required task. The producers were presently distracted and paying no attention to the two individuals who caused their presence on set to be necessary….

He pulled her into him, "Thought we came out here to talk." She giggled at his amorous advances.

He didn't answer with words; his wide eyes and salacious stare filled in all the blanks, "Weren't we gonna take this slow?" She whispered.

The two leads of the show discretely wandered away from the fifty or so people gathered in the vast cordoned off woods of Georgia. The day had been non-stop. Each time he thought he could get a moment alone with her, there was yet another interruption. They found a tree hidden amongst the high blades of grass, hanging leaves and scattered shrubbery of varying heights. He was half-sitting on a low-hanging branch; she was standing between his legs.

"I said we could take it slow if you wanted," he corrected, brushing his lips along her bare neck.

"Mmm, Rick," she put her hand on his chest as he moved his mouth to her cheek; his beard gingerly scratching her face. He opened his legs wider so she could move closer. She turned her head to catch his lips as they moved up. Their lips touched for only a moment before they opened their mouths. He gently rubbed her back, his hands dropping to the rear that he'd been watching and thinking about for years. He squeezed as they inhaled each other. She moved her face back and swatted his arm.

"Rick…" she flirtatiously swatted his arm again.

"What?" he tilted his head forward and bit his bottom lip, "you have an incredible body," his voice was low.

She smiled and shook her head.

"Just listen…" he implored, tracing his finger over her lips, "We can talk—but I don't have anything to figure out. I've wanted this," he motioned between the two of them, "for a very long time. I had to ignore the way I felt, but now I don't. I want you," he placed his lips gently on hers, "not just sex— _you_ …"

She could feel her skin heating up. Her eyes drifted to the trees over his shoulder.

"Michonne…" he said, noticing her attempt at avoiding his eyes. She slowly focused back on his unrelenting stare.

"…Just let yourself go—I promise to catch you," his eyes didn't leave hers as he watched all the wheels in her head turn.

The weirdest feeling of both emotion and unbridled lust came over her – a new kind of freedom. She moved closer, his restricted erection firmly pressed against her crotch. The kisses deepened, along with the frenzied movements of their hands. They were both at a sexual peak where the only way to come down would be through orgasmic release…or…interruption…

" _Rick…_ " a far off call floated through the Georgia woods.

" _Michonne…_ " another call, " _Michonne…_ " the call was a little closer.

"Dammit…" she mumbled backing out of his hold.

"Fuuuck…" he grumbled, standing and running his hands through his hair.

He watched her attempt to regain her composure. It was only the third time that they'd kissed. She seemed to give a little more of herself to him each time. He knew that she wasn't aware of it. Her openness to him was becoming like a drug and he was seriously feening.

He kissed her swollen lips, "You go first, baby," She adjusted her clothes and nodded….

The remainder of their work day in the middle of the sticky woods was long and tiring. They worked well into the evening. Rick had to stay for a few retakes. Michonne stalled for time by busying herself with extra training from martial arts expert. The stalling lasted for over an hour before she eventually left; disappointed that she couldn't have physical contact with Rick before leaving.

She awoke to a text message from Rick that simply said – _You're amazing_ , followed by numerous hearts and kissing emoji's.

x-x-x-x

 **Thursday**

The episode they were filming this week called for four location shoots. There were a couple of scenes being shot on the road. The longer and more involved one was being completed today. The entire morning was devoted to the scene. Extras dressed as sentries, town's people, zombies and community members. The set was replete with abandoned cars, telephone poles and fenced houses.

"That was great everyone," he called with an authoritative declaration, "Okay, let's get set up for the next shot," his praise, validating their hard work, caused everyone to clap both their hands and each other on the back.

The newly constructed facility, with enormous faux radio dishes, sat practically in the middle of nowhere. It was getting more and more difficult to keep eager fans away from the areas where filming took place – causing the network and showrunner to get more creative with shooting locations…

The director ran his hands over his scruffy graying beard as he watched them separately slip away from the gathered cast and crew for the second day in a row. His assumption that the two just wanted to keep their distance from each other made sense; it was their normal _modus operandi_. They steered clear of each other unless the script required them to share one space.

After days, weeks, and even months of dissent behind the scenes, their friendly impasse was somewhat refreshing. The counseling definitely worked, which was good, but something else was going on. He couldn't put his finger on it, but something was off. The showrunner and one of the executive producers walked up to the distracted director to congratulate him on a job well done. They followed his line of sight.

"Wasn't it just a couple of weeks ago that she called him a fried piece of shit?" The thin blonde female executive producer asked the rhetorical question after a few moments of silence.

"It was actually a southern fried asshole—but yeah—" the brown haired showrunner added, not taking his eyes off the two leads as they traversed away from everyone.

They stood in silence several seconds longer.

"Hopefully we haven't traded one problem for another," the director presupposed while they watched the two television stars disappear into the woods….

She wasted no time pulling him on top of her. The ground was covered by short blades of grass and leaves, providing them with a temporary mattress.

He rubbed her denim covered her legs, slipping his hands between her legs. The heat generating from her aroused him beyond his regular level of control. The friction felt so good that he thought he might just explode right there.

"You're a bad influence on me, you know?" She jokingly informed him, running her hand up his chest.

"I think you've got that a little backwards…" he chuckled, adjusting his body on top of hers; past the point where he could hide his excitement. He stared down into her eyes; his dark blue gaze piercing her dark brown orbs. He strummed her cheek with his gently callused fingers before leaning down and kissing her lips. The tenderness in his kiss and in his touch was, ' _amazing._ ' A few tears rolled down her face…

"I know," he whispered upon seeing the passion in her face and the openness of her body. He knew.

For the next ten minutes, their make-out session rivaled that of every un-chaperoned teenaged couple, since before drive-in theaters were created. The dreaded call from one of the AD's wafted through the trees, ending their clothed love-making. He pulled her up from their temporary mattress. They brushed away the leaves, dirt and grass before indulging in one more kiss.

"You head that way…" he pointed towards the area where the road was visible, "and I'll give it a minute before heading over." She hugged him for a moment, basking in his musky-spice-sweat-tinged scent.

"You feel _so_ good—you smell _so_ good," she looked up into his slightly-squinted smoldering blue eyes.

"You gotta stop looking at me like that," he released the embrace, "I can only control myself so much." He put his hands into his back pockets while his eyes roved over her body.

She smiled, "Okay—I'll go."

They returned to the set from two different directions. On paper there was really no logical reason to question their simultaneous disappearance, nor their subsequent simultaneous return - except that there was. The executives weren't the only ones who noticed them slip away…

The remainder of the day went by quickly. There were a lot of the normal 'hurry up and wait' that was standard on every set. Michonne had, of course, kept her distance from _him_. Their interactions happened only when needed.

He was exhausted as he walked to his car. The hope of getting home to relax and then call Michonne later was all he was thinking about. Her house guests had kept her from being as available as he would've liked, but hearing her voice for even a short amount of time was enough for now.

Before he could reach his car and head for the sanctuary of home, one of the AD's stopped him to discuss some of the plans for the final shoot of the week. Rick nodded, his eyes focused on the exuberant young man, doing his best to not appear as annoyed as he felt. The buzzing coming from his pocket was a much appreciated reprieve…

"Excuse me, Tom," Rick said, reaching into his pocket, and then browsing at the name illuminated on the screen, "I need to take this," he tapped the green icon while offering Tom a smile and a slap on the shoulder before continuing on to his car…

"Hey," he said with a slight hint of annoyance in his tone.

"Hey, Rick," she greeted; her annoyance was more palpable than his. It's amazing what can be gleaned from just two words.

"What's going on?" He asked his ex-wife.

"I never heard back from you," her annoyance was practically jumping through the line ready to throttle him.

He got into his car, "Not sure what you're referring to," he told her while starting the engine.

"Our conversation last week—RJ wants to be with you for his birthday next month. You were gonna…"

"Oh shit," he interrupted, "that's right. He wants to come out here. I was supposed…"

"Yeah, you were supposed to get back to me and let me know where you'd be—whether or not it's a good time," her irritation was now in stereo; coming through his car speakers.

"I'm sorry. Time got away from me…"

"Did you at least check your schedule?"

"I did, and that should be fine. I'll book his flight if you want," he offered. In the seconds that it took her to reply his mind gave him no absolution. Michonne had consumed his thoughts to the extent that he'd forgotten about his own son. He watched the passing Georgia landscape through the window, _No father of the year awards for me this year._ He grinned sardonically to himself.

"Its fine," her tone was a little softer and mildly forgiving, "I imagine things are probably crazy for you right now. The show is so popular." Her letting him off the hook so easily was surprising; but it really wasn't. She understood how important his career was to him. Emotional distance had been the final nail in their marriage coffin, not really his chosen profession.

"Thanks," he appreciatively said to the woman that he once thought would be his partner for life.

"No problem. And thanks—I'd appreciate you getting the ticket," she told him. Their conversations tended to have a very predictable ebb and flow to them. They started low-key contentious and ended with agreed upon pleasantries. Rick figured that many ex-couples probably experienced the same thing, if they had to have regular interactions; a child being the link that doesn't allow the bond to break completely.

"No worries—just text me the dates you were thinkin' about," he told her.

At one time they'd been friends. At one time they understood each other. It was a long time ago. It was also a long time since he'd experienced the type of intimacy he was experiencing with his beautiful and headstrong co-star. Being with this new woman, a woman giving her heart to him without even realizing it, made him aware of the intimacy that he'd missed for so long.

As for sex, it had been nearly a year since he'd had it. The opportunity presented itself often. There was no shortage of women constantly throwing themselves at him. He was openly hit on by fans, interviewers, show extras, crew members, and friends of friends. The women were beautiful and more than willing to give themselves to him sexually, with no strings attached.

There were a few times when he'd considered it. He knew more actors than he could count that were just fine with sleeping with women who only wanted them because of their fame. There were times when he was in desperate need of a sexual release; baby oil and his hand took care of that particular physical need. Intimacy was something different. Random women could never fill the need for intimacy that he craved.

Performing that act with his ex-wife near the end of their marriage had become rote; more of an obligation than a desire. But at least the sex was with him, Rick Grimes; not a television star, not a character, not an idolized view of something that he wasn't, and not some caricature. He may not have particularly liked his ex-wife, and she may not have particularly liked him, but the sex was real, ' _Maybe not really good,'_ he'd always laugh to himself when he considered revisiting the act with his ex.

"Okay." He told her, breaking through the distracting fog in his brain.

"Did you wanna talk to RJ? I think he's in his room." They were now at the unspoken, yet agreed upon pleasantries of the conversation.

"Yeah, thanks—I'll talk to you later," pleasantries completed for the week.

Rick Jr. was without a doubt the best thing that he and Lori had done together. Even when he was at the end of his rope with his wife, as she gradually became his ex-wife, he never lost sight of the fact that she was his son's mom. She was half the reason that RJ was the sweet human being that Rick was proud to call his son.

As his name sake regaled him with stories about some of the crazy California kids in the neighborhood, his mind drifted to Michonne.

Much like Carl, RJ really liked Michonne. They got along well. But liking one of your dads friends wouldn't be the same as liking that person as your dad's girlfriend. _Right?_ He wasn't seriously concerned about RJ not getting along with Michonne. He was a sweet kid who never met anyone he couldn't say something nice about. Rick was more concerned about Michonne.

He considered himself to be a pretty simple guy; the complete opposite of the complex person that he knew Michonne to be. He hoped those complexities wouldn't become a barrier between them. There was no doubt in his mind that their real life love story could easily rival the fictitious ones that filled television and movie screens. She just needed to get out of her own way.

The all-consuming fog had cleared. He was determined. Michonne probably hadn't realized it yet, but she was his future.

* * *

A/N: This was a super long chapter, so I broke it in half...Part 1 is actually a little less than half of the full chapter, but it seemed like a good little stopping point :-) I sincerely hope you've enjoyed it thus far. Please let me know what you think. I am so very grateful for all your comments, reviews, requests, etc. Part 2 will be posted on Friday. Thank you.

Blessings...


	6. Chapter 6 - Behind the Scenes, Part 2

**A/N:** I am so very appreciative of all who have taken the time to read this story. Thank you for your follows, favorites, reviews and silent reads. Please enjoy :-)

* * *

 **Chapter 6 – Behind the Scenes, Part 2**

 **Friday**

It took him a few days to figure it out – to know for sure – but there it was, _They are obviously seeing each other._ He tried not to stare at their ridiculous attempts to act like they were not in a relationship, "Shit," he whispered to himself, _When did this happen?_

Michonne was doing her best not to stare in her co-stars eyes; while at the same time, seemingly unable to not stare in his eyes. A fierce warrior wielding a katana while walking around with googly-eyes could become a problem.

In-as-much-as she attempted to keep her distance, Rick was the exact opposite. He seemed intent on touching her every chance he got; brushing up against her and allowing his hand to linger on hers in casual conversation.

The director silently observed, _Yep, this might become a problem,_ he ran his hands down his long whiskers.

Prep work behind the scenes was as intense as what was filmed. Blocking for the fight scenes had been an arduous task. Half the cast was on the road, while the rest remained on the interior industrialized set. Once the filming began, there was smoke, fights, and the continuous blare of the fire alarms; the scenes were some of the most exhilarating ones they'd filmed in a long time. Hours after starting, he called "cut" for the final time that day. It was a peaceful end to a crazy week. The team laughed and joked as the episode wrapped.

Tara, Aaron and Heath had their onscreen good-bye's, using the scripted words for their characters. Off screen they said their actual good-bye's to Tara. This was her final episode for the remainder of the season. She would be out on maternity leave until half-way through the upcoming season.

Everyone was back at the main set and the baby shower was well underway.

"Thank you so much everyone," exclaimed a very excited and very pregnant Tara. She rubbed her rounded belly as she wobbled across the room hugging the various cast mates and crew members.

She beamed, "You guys are so great—I'm really gonna to miss you all." The gender neutral shower was being held in one of the makeshift buildings on the main lot. Gifts that were both wrapped and unwrapped filled nearly half the room. The expectant mom was overcome.

The festivities began and everyone took the time to not only wish their departing expectant friend the best, but to also applaud one another for a great week.

"Michonne, I'm gonna miss you so much," Tara said as she reached to hug her friend.

Like most of her co-workers, Michonne had tried, in vain, to keep her distance from Tara. Initially deciding that opening herself up to the other actors, also opened her up to the possibility of betrayal. Her trust issued following the overheard Rick and Daryl conversation knew no bounds. She was shell shocked. Then there was Tara, and others like her; funny, kind, honest, completely unpretentious people. It was a struggle to remain closed off and secluded in her self-imposed mistrust.

"Awe, Tara, I'm gonna miss you too…" Michonne told her, gently placing her hand on the very round belly that prevented them from having a closer hug.

"…You be sure to let me know if you need anything," she insisted, "and let me know when this little bundle of joy arrives. Don't make me find out from a tweet." They both laughed.

"I will," her short brunette hair bouncing as she shook her head in laughter.

Michonne browsed around the room, "You made out like a bandit," she said, referring to the gifts that took up half the room.

Tara's eyes roamed slowly across the room. There were not just tangible baby gifts toppling over, but there were people that she sincerely cared about, "I'm truly blessed," she exclaimed, becoming just a bit emotional. Michonne took her hand.

"…Anyway," the expectant mom continued, "I'm so excited for you. You've got some pretty phenomenal things going on too."

"Thank you. It's all pretty crazy," that genuine admiration on the face of the younger woman brightened her smile, "It's not the same as bringing a new little life into the world—but, I _am_ happy."

"I bet," the young woman smirked and then winked.

Michonne hesitated for a few seconds, quickly dismissing the wink as some sort of reference to her new and burgeoning relationship with Rick, _that's impossible, we've been completely discrete._

Banishing the ridiculous possibility, "Between filming and interviews, Yep, it's been exhausting—but I'm happy," she reiterated with a smile, shrugging her shoulders in a 'what can I do' gesture.

"Yeah," Tara smiled. Michonne was the smartest and nicest woman she knew; while also being the most actively oblivious person she'd ever met. She, Rosita, and Eugene would often have conversations about the contention between Rick and Michonne. The trio decided some time ago that it was unexplored sexual yearning. But now—they were openly eye fucking and continually slipping off set all week. It was to the point where just standing in vicinity of the actors would get you all hot and bothered.

So now, she's forced to play along with her friend's willful obliviousness, _how is it even possible that someone so smart could be so oblivious?_ She wanted to shout _"We All Know About You and Rick!"_ and shake the soon-to-be movie star. Instead, she smiled and said…

"You're gonna be even more beautiful on the big screen than you are on the small one." They enjoyed another obstructed-hug again.

Rick watched his new lady-love as she spoke with Tara and a few of the other cast members. He waited until she was walking out of the room before attempting to make his way to her. He was stopped by a crew member before he could reach her….

She retrieved her cell phone, unlocked it, and tapped Sasha's smiling face in her favorites menu…

"Hey Sash," she greeted.

"Hey, Michonne. What's up?" Sasha asked.

"Just wanted to see if I can use the apartment tonight—I know its short notice," She said, scanning the deserted craft services area. The tenacious agent kept an apartment in the city for face-to-face client meetings. Since most of her client contact was done over the phone, she didn't use the home-like office very often.

"You must have a house of weary travelers again," her agent assumed. It was not unheard of for the actress to unintentionally host family and friends from both the United States and abroad.

"You know me so well," she giggled, "Yeah, some cousins dropped in Monday night. They've been doing the whole sightseeing thing. I think today they're stopping by Dr. King's house and church—I just need a little break," though partly true, the whole truth was that she wanted to spend some time with Rick in private. He suggested dinner and a movie, but she preferred that they have their date out of the public eye.

"Is this just to get away from your visitors?" Sasha asked.

"Um, sort of," she partially admitted.

"What is _sort of_?" The ex-counselor asked.

Michonne hesitated before answering, "I have a date, and I'd like it to be private," she fully admitted.

"You don't waste time do you," Sasha laughed, "you just gave Mike the boot a couple of days ago."

"So— is that a yes?" Michonne asked as dryly as she could, while also wanting to giggle.

"You have a key Michonne, you can use the apartment anytime you want—but you still have to answer my question," she dug deeper.

"It's just somebody that I'd like to spend some time with that's all," it was both a lie and the truth.

"It's Rick, right?" the attorney turned agent turned amateur sleuth asked.

"What?" The actress stopped ambling about the empty area she'd wandered to while speaking, and stared at the grass in front of her.

"I've known you since we were eighteen years old, Chonney. I may act like I don't know what you're thinking, but trust me, I know…" That was a nickname she used only when whatever point being made needed to be softened.

"Um…" Michonne was prepared to disagree.

"You've had a thing for Rick Grimes for as long as you've been on that damn show. You were always over the moon every time you talked about him, and every time he showed up to whatever event you invited him to. It made me happy for you—but also sad. I was worried at first because it was so obvious. I worried about your career—because he was married…" she took a deep breath and then slowly released a sigh…

"…But honestly, I was more worried about you, 'cuz I know the kind of person that you are. I know it wasn't easy for you to feel _that_ way about somebody who was married. Then when you started hating him I was kinda happy. Though, it made me kinda sad too," she giggled into the phone after spilling everything that she'd held onto for years.

Michonne was taken aback. This was the first time she'd ever heard any of this. ' _Was she really that transparent?_ '

Sasha continued, "…I never knew why all that passion turned to a different kind of passion, and since you would never tell me, I just accepted it and assumed it was for the best—something told me that couples counseling would change things."

"Wow, Sasha—why didn't you ever say anything?"

"Because Honey, you see what you want to see—always have. You're stubborn and trying to convince you of something is damn near impossible."

"How did I get so lucky to have a friend like you? And you're a pretty damn good agent too," she said sarcastically while laughing.

"That's right—you don't deserve me, but as fate may have it, you're kinda of stuck with me."

"Thanks," she wiped a few tears while holding her phone closer to her ear and glanced around to make sure that no one was watching.

"Don't go gettin' all emotional," Sasha joked; she could hear the faint sniffles, "Anyway, there's not much in the fridge, so you're gonna have to hit the grocery store. Just so that you know, the sheets are pretty fresh."

"Sash…" she laughed "You are _too_ much. You're the older brown version of Carl's wild cousin Tina—which is really funny because she's the older female version of Carl. Apparently I tend to like the exact same person no matter what form they come in," she continued laughing, causing her friend to also cackle through the phone.

"That's funny," their giggle fest continued. Michonne looked up and saw Rick walking towards her.

"I'm not an oracle, but I'm gonna make a prediction that you're about to blow that boys mind—I'm just sayin…"

"Sash…"

"All that passion you've had for that man for all these years is about to be unleashed…"

"I gotta go—talk to you later." She grinned, ending the call as she tried to quickly shake off the heat that both her friend's words and seeing _him_ stroll towards her was causing.

"Where'd you slip off to?" Goosebumps appeared out of nowhere when she heard his voice; that southern drawl of his seemed to get deeper and more pronounced when he was flirting. She turned to face him, looking around the open area to see if they had an audience…

"I just needed to make a few calls," she told him.

"Hmm," he turned his head slightly and smiled…

"Rick...Mmm," she muttered.

He never gave her the opportunity to make any more phone calls. They walked separately towards the opposite side of the expansive open set; she was currently pinned against the wall of the dark and vacated canteen. His hand was between her legs gently but methodically rubbing. The kiss was so deep- air could only be released through their pressed noses; his short beard scratching the softness of her face. Their tongues were intertwined as they basked in the warmth of the other.

He moved his other hand up, underneath her shirt, landing on her ample breast. He palmed and rubbed it while using his thumb to torturously caress her aroused nipple. She ran her fingers through his hair before rubbing his back, his rear and then caressing his erection…

"Michonne—baby..." he breathed heavily, "…don't think I can take many more of these make out sessions—I wanna be with you," he kissed her lips and then nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck, "I'll wait—but, I hope it'll be soon," he chuckled lessening the intense carnal tension between them.

"Tonight, okay? Uh, we can go to my friend Sasha's—privacy. I'll, um, make us dinner," she panted.

"Good," he began sucking her neck. She giggled as his facial hair tickled her skin.

He gazed over both shoulders to ensure that no one was in the immediate vicinity. They were in the darkest corner of the room; hidden in the shadows. He turned to her. Before she could completely come down from the high that he'd already sent her to; her belt was unbuckled, her pants unzipped, and both her panties and pants pulled down. He leaned down, quickly undoing the shoe strings of her right shoe. He removed the shoe, pulled down the jeans from that leg, bent her knee and removed her panties from that leg as well.

"Rick…" she was befuddled.

"I've gotta taste you," he was on his knees before she could voice her dissent; her panties and pants hanging midair as he threw one of her legs over his shoulder pulled her closer to his face.

He latched his mouth onto her smooth folds, "Oh my g…" her hand went to her mouth.

"Ahhh," she moaned as his hands held her magnificently plump rear. Amidst her growing sensual wails, his beard gloriously agitating her inner thighs, he slipped his tongue into her; teasing her clit mercilessly.

"Rick…" she panted, both hands now planted firmly in his hair.

"Cum for me baby," he muttered mid-suck. His tongue was methodically assaulting her clit. His beard brushed her inner thigh as she squirmed nearly out of control; she needed him to both stop and never ever stop. The journey ended as he sent her soaring off the fiery cliff that his tongue and fingers had built.

"Rick…Uhhh!" She cried as her body shook. He consumed every bit of her gifted essence before removing her leg and standing. She remained frozen; stuck in a sexual haze and unable to move. He pulled up her clothing, buckled her belt and replaced her shoe. He gazed at the confused satisfaction on her face and grinned.

"You okay, baby?" he smirked, aware of what he'd done to her. She was at a loss for words. A bewildered smile and head nod was all she could manage.

"Come on," he took her hand, "let's get back in there before they send out a search party. You go in first."

She had not yet recovered her ability to speak.

x-x-x-x

The apartment was a true reflection of the agent extraordinaire. It was comfortable home away from home, while also being the sterile-business like office.

The dining room exuded the warmth of Sasha the friend and confidant. The large handcrafted antique mahogany dining room table sat in the open area between the kitchen and the living room. There were matching end tables in the corner of the room with cream colored doilies and soy candles sitting on them. Expensive colorful pieces of cultural art hung on the walls.

The living room was the epitome of a very dogged takes no prisoners Ms. Williams. The medium sized off-white couch and matching love seat shared a combined total of three teal throw pillows. A small coffee table with a glass top sat between the furniture. The walls were bare.

After leaving Tara's on-set party, the day moved quickly for Michonne. She left the set and went directly to the grocery store, quickly grabbing items for a meal that she had only considered preparing just over an hour earlier. Rushing into her apartment and throwing clothes into an overnight bag was her second chore. The third chore was cooking the meal before _he_ arrived.

It was an angsty two hours as she attempted to keep her mind off of the things that Ricks tongue had done to her earlier. The final chore, or rather needed task, was a quick shower. She had just slipped into her red cap sleeve wrap dress when the doorbell rang.

The door opened to a very handsome Rick Grimes holding a beautiful bouquet of red roses. He leaned into her, lightly kissing her cheek, whispering, "You look gorgeous," as she took the flowers from his hand. His dark locks were brushed back. His greying beard indiscernibly trimmed. He was wearing dark blue jeans and a black t-shirt that hugged his muscular physique in a way that made her breath hitch.

Her time in the kitchen had been frantic and far from relaxing. Being on the road so much, traveling from place to place, cooking was no longer second nature to her. Long gone was her ability to effortlessly maneuver around in the dreaded room. Her mother had been insistent that Michonne and her siblings learn to cook. She paid close attention and became a pretty good cook; clearly it was not like riding a bike.

After burning the first two sets of salmon croquettes, she managed to end up with five decent looking patties. The vegetables were easy and the steamed brown rice was pretty simple.

"Everything smells really good," Rick complemented as he followed her into the kitchen.

"Thank you. It took some doing," she laughed, "but I think it should taste okay, and I'm about 90% sure that it won't kill us," she giggled.

"90% sounds good to me. And since you do everything incredibly well, I have no doubt that your culinary skills are as incredible as you," he said, wrapping his arms around her from behind, before she could put the flowers into a vase. He caressed her flat stomach as his hands moved up and landed on her breasts. He sensuously kissed the back of her neck.

"Keep that up and we'll end up eating a cold dinner," she placed one hand over his hands as they began to massage her breasts.

"Yeah," he chuckled.

She stepped slowly out of his hold, flushed and sexually aroused, "Uh, have a seat…" she pointed to Sasha's prized antique dining room table, "and I'll bring you something to drink."…...

Dinner was an appetizing success. The two found their footing and seamlessly fell in step with a friendship that once existed between them.

Music softly filled the room as they laughed about some of the things that happened when they used to be friends, and shared the things that happened when they weren't.

"What's your biggest fear?" He asked. Her eyes grew large at the enormity of the question. Most of their conversation had been pretty benign. This question was anything but.

"Um, honestly, I think my biggest fear is that I won't live up to the expectations that everyone has for me—that they'll find out that I'm not the perfect person they think I am," her eyes drifted up in self-reflection.

"Well that's not gonna happen," he laughed, "because you _are_ perfect," It was his opportunity to break the seriousness that he unintentionally introduced into their easy going night. The levity brought a smile to her face.

"What about you," she began, "what's your biggest fear?"

"It's similar to yours. But it's my son," he took a moment to put his words together, "I don't want my son to ever think that I'm not the man that he believes I am. I'm not worried about what other people think—I have to set the right example for him—be someone he can respect," He smiled and reached across the table to take her hand. An instant surge of electrical energy flowed through them.

"That's good. He's the only one that really matters. Worrying about what everyone else thinks is actually ridiculous," she offered a small smile and slight shoulder shrug. Her statement was directly contradictory to what she'd confessed a few moments earlier. She suddenly felt a little silly.

He observed her body language, "There's nothing ridiculous about considering and thinking about other people," He assured while interlacing his fingers with hers, "I _do_ worry about what _you_ think." His piercing blues were immersed in her large brown pools of uncertainty, not allowing her to look away, "What do you think about me?"

She was silent for a moment, "Um, can I plead the fifth?" She laughed; becoming lost in his eyes.

"I'll let you get away with pleading the fifth this time—but only this time," he smirked.

They laughed, not releasing the hand of the other.

"Oh my goodness," she suddenly stopped laughing. Her stare went beyond the constraints of the walls as the new song started. The melody filled the room, "I love this song—one of my favorite Whitney Houston songs," he smiled and held her hand tighter. She listened as Jermaine Jackson began singing the sweet verses. He watched as she closed her eyes for a few seconds. She smiled dreamily listening to the lines of the song. Each word and expression had a new meaning. What had not existed before was now staring her in the face…

 _If you say my eyes are beautiful_

 _It's because they're looking at you_

 _And if you could only see yourself_

 _You'd feel the same way too_

 _You could say that I am a dreamer_

 _Who's had a dream come true_

 _If you say my eyes are beautiful_

 _It's because they're looking at you_

"…If you wonder, why I'm smiling…it's because, I'm happy with you," she sang looking into his eyes; her melodious voice blending with Whitney's, "...and the warm sensations, touch my heart, and fill me through and through…I could hold you close, forever, and never let you go…If you say my eyes are beautiful…it's because I just love you so…" she softly crooned, not breaking eye contact. The words had not been written by her, but they were undeniably hers. She professed through the lyrics what she wasn't ready to openly tell him.

He stood, still holding her hand, "Dance with me, Beautiful," He said.

They walked into the living room. He wrapped his arms around her. She caressed his back and laid her head on his shoulder. "…the window of my feelings to come through…" she continued to serenade him, barely above a whisper with her face nestled in his chest. Emotions had overtaken her. Heat rose to her face as a few tears quietly slipped down. She buried her face deeper into his shirt. They held each other tight, moving slowly to the music.

"Michonne," his voice was low and gravely, "Thank you." He leaned down and kissed her cheek; tasting salt from her tears and then capturing her lips. She opened her mouth, lightly sucking his tongue through the remainder of the song. He slowly backed up and took her hand. They walked silently to the bedroom.

There was a single candle burning in the corner of the room; giving off a soft light and a vanilla fragrance. The warm and neutral colors of the room seemed to fit what they were feeling. The unbridled and feverish clothed love making they'd done throughout the week had led to this. _This_ was not about wild sex. _This_ was the intimacy they both craved.

They took their time disrobing one another, gazing at her nearly naked body, he whispered his admiration, "You're so beautiful." Her black lace bra seductively showcased her cleavage; the matching panties molded against the curves, divinely revealing her hips and round rear. She watched as his eyes gently caressed her body; taking the same opportunity to admire him. She'd seen him shirtless many times on the set, but this was different – this was for her only. He was more muscular than she remembered–having never allowed herself to _go there—_ this was actually her first time seeing him; the sparse amount of hair on his chest, his lean muscular body, his firm pecks jutting from his relaxed arms, his slim hips. He wore red boxers which barely contained his erection.

He put his hand out to her. They intertwined their fingers as the stepped into each other's space. His warm breath washed over her before he leaned into her and captured her lips. They embraced while the kiss grew more feverish.

His mouth moved slowly across her cheek, stopping at the ridge of her ear. He confessed quietly, "I'm so very much in love with you." It was said so matter-of-factly, with such honesty, tears again clouded her eyes.

She wanted to echo his words—shout them from the rooftops—removing any doubt that she felt exactly the same way. But she couldn't; she was too overcome to say anything. Her breath hitched. He stroked her back and kissed her neck; savoring the taste of her skin.

Holding onto this man and being held by this man was everything. She held him tighter.

"Rick…I…I" she whispered, unable to formulate everything she wanted to say. If she hadn't been so outdone, she would've laughed at herself; a playwright who's unable to formulate any coherent words.

"I know baby," he said, guiding her the few feet to the bed. Michonne wanted him. She wanted _him_. He could see it in her eyes. He could taste it in her kiss. He could feel it in her body when he held her. It was a powerful feeling; to know that someone truly wants _you_.

She sat on the bed gazing up at him. She scooted further to the middle of the bed, laid back, and reached out to him. He climbed on the bed and into her arms. He began to run his hands at the length of her body.

He reached behind her, unsnapping the lacy bra. She sat up slightly so he could remove it. He tossed it onto the chair and then reached down and slid down her panties.

"I've dreamed about this, Michonne—about you," his eyes washed over her body, his admiration apparent in his wicked smile and unapologetic stare, "You're so amazing."

"You too, Rick," she panted while reaching up, putting her thumbs on either side of his hips and pulling down his shorts.

He kissed her softly before putting one finger, and then a second, gently into her slick folds.

"My god, you're so wet," his voice was low and lust-filled. Shivers went through her body as she arched her back. He strummed her slowly; her body began to writhe.

She reached up to him, moving her hands down his chest, his abdomen, and then taking hold of his hardened manhood.

"Michonne…" her name was all he could manage to stammer out as she began to stroke him.

As much as she wanted to enjoy foreplay, reciprocating his generosity from earlier; she couldn't wait.

"Now…" she voiced her nearly inaudible demand, "I want you—I wanna feel you."

He removed his fingers. They didn't break eye contact as he placed the tip of his hardened length at the entry of her slick folds. He eased himself into her…

"Uhhhhgg," she moaned as he entered, "Rick…" she seductively whined as he inched in—filling her completely.

"Fuuuck—you're so tight," he softly grunted, adjusting his hips to give her deeper strokes, "Are you okay?" he asked reticently; her eyes were closed and her face was mildly askewed. It looked like she was lost in ecstasy, but he wasn't sure.

She opened her eyes, softening her expression, "Yes...uhh...you just...feel so good, Rick," she purred, putting her hands on his face; playing with his beard. He leaned down, kissed her lips, and then moved his mouth to her breasts; licking and flicking each nipple as she quietly whimpered. She wrapped her arms around his back. He increased his speed. Their combined heat was electrifying.

"Baby—God—you feel so good," He ran his fingers through her short locks until his fingers were planted on her scalp; gently massaging. Their bodies glistened with sweat as they slowly moved in unison. They basked in their long awaited consummation.

Everything that he felt for her - all the passion that had bubbled inside of him for so long - took form.

He began to move on top of her with a rhythm that he'd learned in his youth. Tonight he would perfect it. They moved in synch. She held him tighter as he moved deeper inside her…..

He opened his eyes to her snuggled gently in his arms; his little spoon. After a full night of love making it was not surprising that she was still knocked out. She breathed softly, moving closer to him in her sleep. He kissed the back of her neck, pulling her closer.

He glanced around the bright room. Sunlight filled their current resting place through a small window; the sheer curtains doing very little to keep out the jubilance of a new day. The candle still burned, its light blending with the room's brightness. The flame on the wick, though ignited, merely floated on top of the liquid remnants of the wax. The room was sparsely decorated. A full-sized bed sans headboard, white chest of drawers, a matching night stand and a single chair, were the only pieces of furniture.

The comforter was on the floor at the foot of the bed. It rested on top of their clothing; visible proof of the amorous activities they'd enjoyed throughout the night and into the early morning.

She began to stir; stretching her arms mid yawn. Her dark skin was an exquisite contrast to the white sheet that barely covered them.

His arousal was becoming more pronounced as her bare bottom gingerly bumped him. He nuzzled his face into the crux of her neck, "Good morning," he said in a low gravelly voice.

"Good morning to you," her voice was a little more muffled than his, "How'd you sleep?"

"I'm always gonna sleep good as long as you're in my arms," he told her, his voice becoming less husky.

She turned to face him. His eyes were wide and a softer color of blue than they usually were. His erection was now pressing between her leg and pubic bone. She kissed his lips while running her hand over his warm skin.

He chuckled, "Guess you can see, and feel, what you do to me."

"Yep," she wasted no time pushing him onto his back and climbing on top of him.

They made love for the next thirty minutes. After their passion filled synchronized climax, she collapsed on top of him; her breasts flush against his sweat drenched sculpted chest…

"Wanna go get breakfast? I think we both worked up a pretty good appetite," he lightly squeezed her luscious rear end and chuckled.

They had fallen back to sleep after their morning dalliance.

"We did," she giggled, completely agreeing with his assessment.

"Where do you wanna go? There's a few good places near here."

"Um," the wheels were turning, "Do you mind if we just have something delivered?" she asked, lifting her head off his chest to gauge his reaction, "I'd like to keep us private, for now at least…"

"I figured as much," he leaned up, gently kissing her lips."

"Are you _really_ okay with that?"

"As long as I get to have you at the end of the day—I'm fine with that."

"You definitely get to have me at the end of the day," she flirtatiously told him, "as many times as you'd like—in whatever position you'd like," she swirled her finger through the hairs on his chest.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

 **A few weeks had passed** since he first thought that something was going on with them. It was now the worst kept secret—yet again—on set. Detective skills were not needed to put the clues into a complete picture; they left an accidental trail of breadcrumbs. Rick began locking his trailer door anytime _she_ dropped by for a casual visit. The two slipped away constantly when they filmed away from the main set. Their tryst in the woods was always visibly apparent; she generally returned with leaves embedded in her wig. She once rejoined the filming with the shirt under her vest turned inside out. On a few occasions Rick resumed shooting scenes with grass stains on his jeans - stains that weren't there before the break.

The protective and discrete costume crew did their best to cover for the new lovers, but there was really no way to completely hide what was going on, _I swear they're not just the king and queen of the apocalypse, they're also the king and queen of quiet drama._ He grimaced at the thought of talking to Rick about his growing concern. However, it was a conversation that needed to happen before the big wigs at the network got wind of the new developments.

His conversation with both the director who first noticed something going on, and one of the executive director's, had happened weeks back. The time had come to address the rumors and speculation directly.

" _Rick…"_ the newly emboldened showrunner called to his lead actor, _"You have a sec?"_

Rick nodded, saying a few parting words to the cast members he was speaking with, and walked towards his boss. They walked without speaking towards one of the smaller stationary trailers. The two set designers who were lingering in the room when they entered greeted their boss's boss. He politely requested the room….

She wasn't sure where Rick had gone. Staring at him from a distance had become her favorite pass time sport on set. After work they spent their nights watching movies and making love. They generally chose Rick's house, which was in a more secluded and rural part of Georgia, than was Michonne's downtown Atlanta condominium. On the nights when they were too sexually turned on by a day of flirting to make it to Rick's place, they would go to Sasha's awaiting apartment; Michonne's place was a revolving door for her relatives.

Daryl and Maggie had caught her and Rick making out in his unintentionally unlocked trailer a week ago. They didn't ask a lot of questions; though it was obvious that they wanted to. Without much discussion, the duo promised to keep the relationship private. Discretion was the better part of valor after all—for both men and women. They left out the fact that everyone on set already knew.

She smiled and wandered away from the crew; happy with all aspects of her life. She knew without a doubt that she was in love with Rick. It was a new feeling, but it was most certainly love. Her career was also exactly where it should be. After working for years, she was finally realizing the dream—the dream that both she and her parents had always had for her. She glanced around the expansive area again for Rick, just as some of her fellow cast members approached her to chat…..

He closed the door behind the exiting designers.

"What's going on?" Rick inquired once the two men were alone. The large man sat in one of the make-up chairs and faced the actor,

"I was gonna ask you the same thing," he removed his dark rimmed glasses, his eyes narrowed as he studied the eyes of the other man.

"Not sure what you're talkin' about," Rick tilted his head and squinted before taking a seat in one of the vacant chairs.

Not one to beat around the bush, "What's going on with Michonne?"

"We've had this conversation before…" the actor kept an even tone.

"I know we've talked about the acrimonious relationship you two seemed to have—I'm not talking about that…"

"What are you askin'?" Rick could feel his blood begin to heat up.

"Is there something—um—romantic going on between you two?" He already knew the answer to the question. Everyone who worked for the show knew the answer to the question. Rhetorical as it may have been, it seemed inappropriate to start the conversation with an assumption.

A palpable air of awkwardness instantly beset the room. How could asking a grown man about his romantic life not be awkward?

Rick chuckled, running his hand over his face, "Pretty sure that ain't none 'a ya bizness," his southern vernacular becoming more pronounced as his dander began to rise.

"Look, Rick, I know it's none of my business," he attempted a smile, "but I consider both of you friends—not just colleagues, and…"

"You don't need'ta worry," he could see the concern on the face of the executive; there was no judgment, "we're professionals—and adults. I, uh, appreciate your concern."

"Again, none of my business, but…" Rick interrupted with a laugh, "…That _but_ always means I'm about to do exactly what I've just said I don't plan to do,"

"Yeah," the showrunner agreed and joined in the laughter.

"Is this uh—new?" He asked the question which followed the 'but.'

"Uh, yeah, it is," he rubbed his hand over the nape of his neck, "It's different—different than anything, than everything. She's…" he trailed off, deciding not to disclose any other information.

"I'm glad for you, Rick," he reached over and hit his knee, "She's an amazing woman—you're a lucky guy."

"Thanks—I appreciate that. And yes, I am a very lucky guy," he said, smiling as Michonne's face flashed through his mind; "Can you do me a favor and just not mention it to anyone? Michonne is very private. I wanna respect her wishes to keep this as private as possible…"

It was the other man's chance to laugh, "…You _do_ realize that everyone on set has already figured out what's goin' on with you two—weeks ago," he laughed, "you guys did a lousy job of hiding your dislike for each other—and trust me, you've done a _way_ worse job of hiding that you're in a relationship."

"I figured as much," he smiled, shaking his head, "but Michonne seems to do a good job of living in her own world—a world where people don't pick up on the things that she doesn't want them to pick up on."

Michonne was a great actress without question. She was destined for Emmy's, Oscar's and every other kind of acting accolade. She was, however, horribly transparent when it came to hiding her actual-real life emotions. Both men knew it.

"Rick," his face constricted and became more serious, "You have Comic Con coming up next month. You both are on the panel. Trust me when I tell you that it'll be obvious to everyone there…" he paused and rubbed his temple, "Maybe we can just do some strategic seating for you two."

"That would be great," Rick agree, sighing deeply.

"You know, I always thought there was something beneath all the anger you two had for each other," his smirk that was barely visible under the growing hair on his face; but was clearly visible in the corners of his eyes.

"S'pose there was," Rick smiled, wiping his hand over his face.

"That's some damn good counseling," the now relaxed executive joked, "I might just need to get that doctors card from you." The tension lessened as they both laughed.

* * *

A/N: There is just one chapter remaining for this story. It may possibly be broken in half as well, depending on how long it ends up being once its all fleshed out and edited, ugh...lol.

Please let me know what you think of this chapter. Your feedback means so much to me. The finale will be up soon. Blessings to you...


	7. Chapter 7 - Into the Light, Part 1

**A/N:** Thank you all for reading, reviewing and following this story. This has turned in an amazing yet very unplanned journey. Please enjoy.

* * *

 **Chapter 7 – Into the Light, Part 1**

Poet J. Krishnamurti once said about new love that, _"The moment you have in your heart this extraordinary thing called love and feel the depth, the delight, the ecstasy of it, you will discover that for you the world is transformed."_

The new love that Rick and Michonne had shared over the last few months did exactly that, it had transformed them. The openness that neither had ever allowed with another, they willingly gave to each other.

The thirst that they had for one another was unquenchable. They shared themselves on all intimate levels. The interconnecting of their bodies sexually was just the conduit to connecting on a deeper spiritual level. The sex became as much a need as it was a want.

Every dark corner, every unattended closet, every unoccupied bedroom, became a place for them to explore each other's bodies; to continually consummate their commitment to one another. The desire that existed within them and within their relationship was unparalleled.

Rick found new and exciting ways to strum her body and cherish her spirit. Her hands found the parts of his body that had been ignored his entire life and adored them with every soft stroke. The orgasms that they shared rattled their bodies and shook their souls.

x – x – x - x

Filming was done for the upcoming first half of the season. In just over a few months their characters new romantic relationship would be revealed on screen. The upcoming season held many surprises and revelations for fans; the romantic relationship of the shows two lead characters would be the biggest.

They spent their evenings sequestered in their adjoining rooms during the much lauded Comic Book Convention in San Diego. The team from the show kept their poker faces intact during the panels, workshops and seminars. Although the show's producers, showrunner, and network executives had concerns about Rick and Michonne's interaction with each other on the largest panel, which included the entire cast, they trusted the actors.

The first day of the weekend's events was jam packed for all the actors. True to his word, the show's top executive made sure that Rick and Michonne had a four person buffer between them as they sat on the panel.

Most of the actors were well aware of the relationship between the lead of the show and his new on screen wife. It came as no surprise to Daryl, Carol, Maggie, and Glenn when they were asked to follow Rick in succession to the chairs onto the stage. Michonne was fifth in line.

" _Ladies and Gentlemen,"_ the gregarious announcer shouted, _"Welcome to the San Diego Comic-Con," the audience applauded, "We're so happy to be here with you again this year. Let's have a hand for our incredible cast!"_ He pointed at the seated cast, as the diehard fans cheered and clapped for several minutes.

The discussion went better than anyone thought it would. The regular questions were asked about both the upcoming season, and the one that had just ended. The cast laughed, spoke, and engaged the audience. The few questions that were directed at Rick or Michonne regarding the possibility of a relationship were deflected by the producers or a fellow cast member. It was a true shell game. Rick kept his eyes forward as did Michonne….

"Rick—baby—we have to get downstairs," she panted.

"I just want a little bit," he grunted, "just let me feel you a little bit more."

It was the second day of the San Diego Comic-Con. Rick spent the night in his girlfriend's room. They were dressed and heading to the door when his eyes dropped to her swaying hips. She was wearing a form fitting blue and white wrap dress. He hurriedly stepped behind her, lifting her dress and sliding his fingers into her panties.

She huffed, grabbing his hand, "Rick, we don't have time," she tried to reel him in. That was five minutes ago.

Her hands were currently splayed against the wall by the bed; panties down, facing the wall, with Rick behind her. He had one hand rubbing her breast and the other rubbing her wet and swollen pearl. His face was buried in the back of her neck.

"Rick," she moaned.

"Just let me feel you for a second?" he pleaded with his low husky voice.

"Uh…okay, just uh second," she grunted.

They made it to their individual interviews with only minutes to spare.

Michonne did double duty on the second day. The movie studio was just beginning to promote their newest superhero movie. The filming had not wrapped but the buzz around the movie was already at a fever pitch level. Scenes from the movie had not been released, but the large promotional posters were revealed at the beginning of the convention. Her name and face were now unequivocally attached to the movie that was sure to forever be a game changer for the whole Marvel Universe.

Rick watched her walk off with her new friends and co-stars. Though he had not met them formally, he was proud of her and happy for the amazing success that she was enjoying. There was a twinge of _something_ that he had yet to identify, _God, you're so damn gorgeous_ , his eyes continued to linger as she walked; talking and laughing.

The tap on his shoulder nearly made him jump, "You have a horrible poker face," Daryl joked, following his friends line of sight. Rick turned and gave him a half-smile and nodded.

"Let's get to the interview," Daryl said.

The small group interviews with assorted entertainment outlets went well. Michonne and Rick did not participate in any interviews together and sat separately at the table while they signed autographs. The well-rehearsed shell game was a rousing success.

x – x – x - x

The second day of the four day convention was finally over. Michonne stayed at the hotel while Rick went to pick up RJ. Their plan was to spend the evening together. The San Diego Convention Center was not far from where RJ lived with his mom.

"Hey dad," the young man greeted his father with a huge hug.

"Hey son," Rick mussed his sons hair as he looked at the young man with pride. RJ was nearly already Rick's height. He looked almost more like Rick than Rick looked like Rick.

"Hey dad, how was Comic Con? I wanted to go but I couldn't let my team down," his son explained unprompted. His team had made it to the playoffs. The first game occurred at the exact same time as the panel that Rick was on.

"I just wish I could've seen you play. I know you put those other guys to shame," He watched as his name sakes eyes grew big and a smile stretched into a knowing smirk. The young man was much more athletic than Rick was at that same age.

"So, where we goin', dad?"

"I had some things I wanted to talk to you about and I thought it would be cool if we hung out at the hotel, order some dinner, and maybe watch some movies."

"Are you kidding? You want to just hang inside all night?" He asked incredulously.

"Well, it's actually a little more than that," Rick walked inside of the house that his son shared with his ex-wife, "We'll talk about it on the way to the hotel okay?"

The younger Grimes gave his father a look of suspicion before agreeing, "Okay dad."

"Hey Lori," Rick greeted upon walking into the front room. His ex-wife was standing between the front room and the hallway.

"Hey Rick," she returned his greeting.

After a few in person pleasantries, much like the pleasantries that they exchanged at the conclusion of their phone calls, father and son were in Rick's rented vehicle heading to the hotel.

"So," the father and actor began, "I wanted to talk to you about something,"

The distracted teen looked up from his phone, "Yeah, what's up dad?"

"Uh, I actually wanted to talk to you about a new person that's in my life," through his peripheral vision he could see a grin appear on his son's face.

"You have a girlfriend don't you dad?" It was more of a statement than a question.

Rick laughed, "Yes son, actually I do."

"That's cool. Who is it? Do I know her? What's her name?" The young man rambled.

"Well," he chuckled, "those are a bunch of questions. But, yes, you actually already know her," Rick smiled, watching the road while also observing his son.

" y?" RJ dragged out the word.

"Yeah, you do."

"Is it Michonne?" The words tumbled out quickly.

The surprise that Rick should've had was nonexistent. His son was incredibly perceptive and it didn't surprise him that his intuitive child picked up on his dad's reaction and interaction when it came to his costar.

RJ told him how much he liked Michonne and always thought that she would be a _cool_ girlfriend for his dad.

"Waaay cooler than I thought you'd ever get dad," the younger Grimes laughed at the nonchalant shade he just threw his dad's way.

"I'm pretty sure that you just offended me son," he reached over and popped his son's leg, "but I'll take it," he laughed.

"Do you want me to keep it a secret? Do you want me to not tell mom?" His laughter trailed down as he attempted to gauge his father's reaction to a question that was a real concern in his young brain.

"Your mom's personal life is her business and my personal life is mines. Who she sees and who I see are our own private matters. I don't want you to feel like you have to keep any kind of secrets from your mother…" he paused to try and get a sense of his son's reaction.

"… We're not broadcasting our relationship, which has more to do with Michonne's wishes than anything else. I think the secret'll be out soon enough though. But, I appreciate you being so considerate," the proud dad reached over to the passenger seat and mussed his son's hair, "You're a good kid."

Their discussion never quite made it past jokes and jabs. The younger Grimes spent a good amount of the conversation making fun of his dad making it quite clear that Michonne is way cooler than him and that he was surprised she would be interested in such a nerd.

Michonne was nervous as she stood outside of her boyfriend's hotel room waiting for him to open the door. She'd just spent the night in that same hotel room making love to him throughout the night. But this would be different. Rick opened the door to find a very reserved and shy looking Michonne.

He leaned in and kissed her lips. She swiftly backed away looking over his shoulder at a young man staring back at her. His wide eyes matched Rick's. RJ's amusement was so apparent and cute that she almost instantly felt at ease.

The door snapped shut as the couple walked further into the room.

Michonne had been incredibly nervous as she prepared for this very important meeting. Rick's son would be meeting her for the first time as the girlfriend and not just the work friend. She'd stressed over every possible negative scenario. _What if he doesn't like me as his dad's girlfriend?_ She was guilty of all the overthinking that Sasha consistently accused her of.

The night, however, was amazingly effortless. It went smoother than she could have ever imagined. All awkwardness was replaced by a comfortable familiarity. Rick stood and observed the two loves of his life as they laughed and talked about the weird people that had approached her at the much lauded event earlier. RJ regaled her with exaggerated stories of his teams win. The night was a smashing success.

"I was hoping you'd stay the night," Rick said.

He'd been trying to convince her to stay with him for the past hour. Though the young man made it very clear that he was on board with their relationship, she still felt it was inappropriate.

"Rick, we can't have sex with your son in the next room," she whispered with a raised eyebrow as he rubbed her leg. They were sitting on the couch watching an action movie that RJ chose.

"No one said we have to have sex," he said quietly into her ear, lightly sucking her earlobe.

Her body instantaneously reacted to his hand on her leg and his warm breath in her ear, "Mmm…" her sigh was low and sultry, "Rick—you have to stop," she popped his leg with her hand and moved away from him.

He chuckled, moved closer, and nuzzled his beard along her face, "You taste so good baby. I know you don't wanna miss snugglin' with me tonight."

She didn't.

"Hey Michonne," RJ was stretched out on the floor in front of the couch; he turned around and faced his dad. He directed his question to his dad's girlfriend, "Did you see that? Vin Diesel is awesome." His grin was one of the cutest things she'd ever seen.

"Uh—yeah. I like him too," she very subtlety stuttered, smiling back at the excited young man. Once he turned back towards the screen, she narrowed her eyes at her shameless boyfriend. He received the most wantonly-evil look she could muster while in her current state of sexual arousal.

He ignored the look, "I wanna do some really dirty things to you," he whispered into her ear.

By the time the movie was over the couple had made it to the other side of the couch as Michonne continually scooted away—the unseen magnetic thread kept him scooting right along with her.

"RJ, I had such a good time with you. Thanks for letting me hang out with you and your dad," Michonne said to the teen after he'd convinced her to stay through another movie. It was late and both she and Rick had to be back at the auditorium for different panels early in the morning.

Before she could respond he reached out and hugged her. He held her tight. "Thank you for loving my dad. He's a good guy and I know he was really lonely. I think you make him really happy," it all just spilled out. He grinned, suddenly embarrassed by sharing all the unsolicited information.

She laughed as he backed out of the embrace, "You're welcome," she looked over at Rick, his eyes were wide and his smile was bright, "but really, your dad saved me from myself—I'm thankful to be able to love him." She tweaked his nose and smiled.

"See ya' later," he said, turning on his heels and quickly walking towards his room.

"I love you," he grabbed her by the waist. She leaned up and kissed his lips.

"I love you too," she said against his lips, "but you're still sleeping alone tonight mister."

Rick took the next few minutes trying to convince her to, at the very least, let him spend the night with her, _"he's a teenager Michonne, he knows we have sex,"_ he said more than once before he finally relented.

It wasn't an actual surprise when she awoke at one o'clock in the morning to a knock on her door. " _Michonne_ " was whispered in his southern drawl. She opened the door to see a very horny Rick Grimes leaning against the doorframe with a bowed head and half-lidded eyes staring at her. She glanced over his shoulder, scanning the hallway for any nosey guests, before grabbing hold of his shirt and pulling him into the room.

Over the next few months their relationship, though still passionate, became more domestic. A new normality existed for the couple…when they were in the same city.

Michonne had begun promoting the two films that she was working on, so anytime they were together was private and completely out of the public eye. With the exception of their dinners with the Fimbres' they generally remained attached to the hip at Rick's place.

x – x – x - x

The morning was brisk as the sun rose cascading its light over the busy set. They were parked in the middle of a long closed road in Senoia, Georgia. The network paid the state of Georgia a significant amount of money to cordon off a large part of the woody areas in and around Atlanta.

It was a closed set and a truly controlled environment. The set was actually a van with two cameras rigged on the interior of the vehicle and one rigged to the front window. A single lens camera was on the outside where eight crew members waited.

The stark contrast of their complexions lent an air of sensuality to the love scene that jumped through the camera lens. The connection between the characters would pass any test; its authenticity verifiable at first glance.

The problem arose when the real life people behind the characters seeped through the lens.

He took hold of her. An electrical current surged through both of them. She could feel her body begin to react. Her squirm was imperceptible as the throbbing at her core began and the wetness eased into her lingerie. She focused on the scripted dalliance, not allowing her face to give away her secrets. He gazed deep into her eyes, looking deeper than the characters they played. She relied on her training and professionalism to keep her true feeling at bay. He didn't care. His game face was gone and his need to consume her took over.

His mildly callused hands slowly crawled down her back. He kissed her lips and moved his face under her expensive manufactured hair. He'd been holding onto her and strumming her body for over a year, but he still couldn't get enough. Her body always felt so good.

He lifted her leg and moved closer to her. He unscripted moan was released as his hands rubbed her luscious globes; squeezing the fleshiness that always aroused him. Her hands began to rub the front of his jeans. She rubbed slowly as his tongue dove deeper into her mouth.

Using her upper body strength, she flipped him onto his back and got on top of him. He grinned at her with lust filled eyes and quickly removed her shirt. He caressed her breasts through the black bra that had been painstakingly picked by the wardrobe department; slowly running his hands down her body while she tried not to gasp too loudly. Her eyes closed as he put his face between her breasts. She wrapped her arms around his bareback and moaned as he proceeded to lightly bite the exposed skin.

"Cut," shouted the director. He, along with the others viewing the ad-libbed sexually laced scene, had become embarrassingly aroused. The cameras had been strategically placed but the primary camera was picking up things that were not in the script.

He walked up to his two lead actors; paused while trying to find the right words, "What was that?!" Not exactly the words he was going for but they were the ones he found, "What the hell?! None of that was in the script. We just spent the last two hours blocking this and we still can't get it right."

No one openly spoke about Rick and Michonne's relationship but it was common knowledge. Both actors were professional so their time on screen was always a pleasure to watch, and to direct. The exception would be this episode where it delved deeper into the romantic side of their characters relationship.

"Yeah—uh, sorry," Rick said. The director winced. He shook his hand he shook his head, unable to even pretend that he was okay with these could continual retakes, but he did his best to smile.

"All right," He turned to the crew, "okay everybody, let's take fifteen and then get this done!" He shouted.

Michonne and Rick remained seated and watched the mentally exhausted director walk away with his hand on the back of his bowed neck, shaking his head. The crew had spread out across the shooting area. The actors remained in the vehicle.

"Rick," she whispered, "what's going on? You can't keep getting so carried away," she squinted slightly with a gentle smile.

"Fine," he said, pulling his hand away from her and standing. His frustration was evident, though she wasn't sure where it was coming from. She stood and in front of him.

"What's wrong?" She asked. For the past few weeks Rick had been acting…different.

The couple had a way of reading each other. One of the reasons that most of the show's audience didn't balk as much as some thought they would when the relationship rolled out for public fodder and dissection, was because of the obvious connection between the two. The chemistry jumped through the screen; as did their ability to read the other. Art had truly imitated life.

"Your body feels so damn good," he admitted, tussling his already messy hair, "It's hard for me to touch you and not want more...I've missed you," his hand moved down and unconsciously ran over his beard.

"We were just together last night—and this morning," she reminded him with a slight smirk.

The bottle episodes of the current season that they were working on had allowed her to complete the smaller film she was working on, do some minimal promotion for the movie, and complete filming for the second part of the Marvel movie. Her continually compacted schedule was making the alone time that she and Rick had previously enjoyed more and more rare.

"Is that enough for you!?" He snapped, turning his back and taking a few strides towards the rear doors of the van. The question was most definitely a low-key complaint. His annoyance couldn't be hidden.

"No, Rick—of course it's not," she stood behind him, touching his elbow, "I miss you too."

He turned to face her, "The event tonight—is that something you have to attend? Sounds like it's optional to me," he said.

Michonne had been invited to by a friend to join her at a _Women in Entertainment_ event at the last minute. The event was taking place in New York. She was flying out in a few hours and not returning for three days. Rick was initially unfazed by the sudden change in his plans to spend time with her. His unvoiced discontent in regards to her decision to go was on a slow simmer; it was quickly rising to a serious boil.

"We talked about that. I mean—this is a big deal. Being a part of the women on the big screen and not only television is huge for me. Rosie could've invited anyone. She's already such a big part of the movie industry…"

"I get it," he said. It was true to an extent. Her excitement was valid, _Why is this bothering me so damn much?_ He softened his tone, "I really _do_ get it, baby—I'm sorry. Let's just get this done so we can spend some uninterrupted time together before you have to head to the airport." He kissed her lips.

" _Let's get this done!"_ A shout came from outside the mobile set.

x – x – x - x

"Hey baby," she said a little louder than normal because of the background noise she could hear, "I'm so glad you called."

"Hey. How'd everything go?" He asked, also raising his voice above the volume of the party going on around him.

The cast and crew were celebrating Glenn. His final episode had been filmed. Cast and crew were proud of the work they'd done on his final episode. Everyone was already feeling the loss of their friend. The friendships didn't end when people left – whether or not it was their choice – but they were never the same. The lack of regular interactions did make a difference. Everyone was intent on this party not being sad. They treated it as a celebration of friendship. However, this was a loss that hit them all deeply.

Right after the filming Michonne flew to London to do the back end promotion for her smaller film. She left there and flew to California, which is where she was currently. She and Rick had Glenn and his wife over to her condo for dinner before she left. Glenn had been her first real friend when she moved to Atlanta and her heart was broken that she would not have the opportunity to see him on a regular basis. Missing his party only compounded the guilt that she was already feeling.

"It went well. The British talk shows are great, but there's nothing like the shows her in the states. I always enjoy doing these." She said, glancing at her surroundings. Her hotel room was elegant, as most of the hotel rooms she spent time in were. As beautiful as it was she couldn't help feeling lonely. "How's the party going?" She snuggled into the luxurious couch. It didn't feel anywhere near as good as the one at Rick's house.

"It's fine. Everyone misses you," he shared, "but not as much as me." He walked onto the patio to hear her better and have more privacy.

"Awe...you sound so sexy," she cooed, sipping her wine, "I dread the idea of getting into the big bed without you."

"Hmm—Anything in particular you'd like to do in that bed?" He asked in his deep seductive voice.

"Mmm hmm," she panted, "I can think of about ten things right off the bat," she giggled.

"How about you tell me," he was leaning on the rail looking over the large backyard of their host; one of the network executives.

"You've got a nasty mind, you know that Mr. Grimes," she seductively admonished.

"That's one of the many reasons you love me," he chuckled, "now tell me one of those things you wanna do with me in that bed."

"Rick," she giggled, slowly moving her hand between her legs. She had on one of Rick's large t-shirts, "I don't want you all excited without me there to—uh—take care of you."

"Don't you worry about…"

" _Rick_ ," a slurred voice interrupted from the distance, "You promised me a dance…" he turned around and saw the young brunette actress ambling onto the patio…

"…and you look so damn sexy—I'm holding you to it…" she grabbed his arm.

"Uh," he stammered, "I'm on the pho…"

"Who you talkin' to? Tell whoever it is that I got you for…" she hiccupped, "…the night."

Michonne sat up when she heard the voice. She stood when she heard the words and put down her glass of wine, _Who the hell is that?_ The relaxed feeling she had just moments earlier was replaced with anxiety, _That's Sherry._

Sherry was one of the many new cast members on the show. Though Rick and Michonne had never openly flaunted their relationship, it was common knowledge on set. Michonne accepted that very obvious fact several months ago.

"C'mon," the inebriated actress demanded, reaching for his phone. Rick stepped back and she stumbled into him. He dropped the phone.

"Hello…" Michonne said before looking at the phone in her hand. The words 'call failed' were staring back at her.

There was a chance that Sherry wasn't aware of the relationship, but, _I'm sure she knows. There's no way in hell she doesn't know._ She walked into the miniature ensuite kitchen and poured more wine into her glass, _I'm sure she knows. She obviously has a thing for Rick. Most of them do._ She took a sip of the bitter liquid before pouring it down the drain and walking back to the couch. She picked up the phone and called Rick. It went straight to voicemail. "You've never given me a reason to doubt you—so I won't," she voiced her thoughts out loud to the empty room.

"Um Sherry, let me get you a cab," Rick offered, walking her back into the house.

"What about that dance…" she asked, twirling her finger in his hair. He removed her hand.

"I'm in a relationship Sherry," he said, mildly annoyed at not just the overt flirtation, but the interruption of his phone call, "so I'll see you to a cab and then I'm gonna head home." She stopped and turned around.

"Well, she's not here," she looked up at him through her lashes, "and I am. I mean, I just think you're a really great guy." Suddenly she sounded much more sober.

He smiled, realizing that she wasn't nearly as drunk as she pretended to be, "Actually she is here," he patted the left side of his chest, "she's with me everywhere I go." He lowered his voice during his exchange with her.

Cast, crew and executives were socializing nearby. They all appeared to be preoccupied, but it was obvious to him that they were watching and listening. Sherry had been very bold in her flirtatious behavior. Rick did not want to embarrass her.

She was at a loss for words. He leaned closer and looked into her sorrowful eyes, "I know that you know who I'm involved with. And, just so you know, it's not casual. We're in a committed relationship. She's the love of my life," he did his best to smile and not make her feel any more ridiculous than she probably already did, "We'll just chalk this up to too much alcohol. No harm no foul, okay?" He smiled.

"Um—okay," she nodded, too humiliated to look him in the eyes.

It was not the first time he'd been hit on, and he knew it probably wouldn't be the last. Sherry was not even the first of his cast mates who had hit on him. He felt certain that it had more to do with his celebrity and stature on the show than it did with him, the person.

"I'm gonna head out," he told her, scanning the room for the guest of honor so he could say goodbye before looking back at the sorrowful young woman, "make sure to take a cab or Uber home. We'll just act like this never happened."

He spotted Glenn on the other side of the dimly lit room chatting with his wife, Daryl, and one of the producers. He began his stride towards them when he felt a tap on his back. He turned to find Sherry standing there…

"Rick, I'm really sorry. I hope that—um—you don't hate me and that Michonne won't hate me—if—uh, you tell her. I just never actually see you two together and she's not here, so I thought that maybe you two weren't—um…"

"Like I said, no harm, no foul," he interrupted, becoming mildly annoyed, "Michonne and I have a relationship built on trust. She…"

"Do you think you could maybe not tell her what happened?" Sherry hastily interrupted. He couldn't help but feel bad for her. In a matter of minutes she'd gone from vixen to puppy; her eyes much like the child eager for his parents praise.

Rick chuckled, "I was on the phone with her when you came out onto the patio. I'm pretty sure she heard everything," he almost wanted to laugh when he saw the fear in the young woman's eyes, _She probably thinks Michonne really does use a katana._ He chuckled again, "Just talk to her when you see her. She's actually a really nice lady—I promise she won't take your head off."

Her eyes grew wide.

He stuck his hands in his pockets, squelching his natural instinct to give the sorrowful young actress a fatherly shoulder shrug. He decided in that instant that any type of physical contact may be received in a way that he did not intend.

The slightly mortified actress nodded as he walked towards the small gathering of cast members. Rick groaned to himself as he approached his smiling friends. It would be yet another night of missing his woman.

* * *

A/N: This chapter laid the final part of the foundation for the remainder of this little fic. Part 2 will be up in a few hours. Please let me know what you think. Blessings :-)


	8. Chapter 8 - Into the Light, Part 2

**Sometimes the** **road to a happy ending can get pretty bumpy...**

* * *

 **Chapter 8 – Into the Light, Part 2**

"Hey guys. I'm so glad to see you," Gina greeted them at the front door with big hugs, "You both look so beautiful, as always," she said as she took hold of Michonne's hand and then Rick's. They walked into the house with their hostess sandwiched between them.

The Fimbres' had invited them to a small dinner party scheduled around Michonne's return home. The actress landed in town yesterday.

They walked to the dining room where Carl and Peter were already seated at the table.

"Michonne," Carl shouted as he jumped up and hugged her, "it's good to see you."

"I just saw you a week ago," she laughed while playfully shoving him away.

"Well, I'm still glad to see you," was his retort with a huge grin.

"I guess I'm chopped liver standing over here," Rick said cocking his head towards Carl.

"Oh sorry, hey Rick," he shrugged his shoulders and sat back down.

"Can I help with anything Gina?" Michonne offered.

"Absolutely not," the hostess pursed her lips and furrowed her brow in the actresses direction, "You're gonna sit right down and relax."

Rick chuckled, looking around the room, "When you said small dinner party you really meant it."

They all laughed as Rick pulled out Michonne's chair and she sat down.

"We like having you two all to ourselves," Gina said.

"Plus, we know y'all prefer to be private and keep to yourselves," Peter said irreverently.

"That's Michonne—not me," Rick responded taking his seat. The very subtle bitterness in his words caused a sudden shift in the room. The awkwardness was apparent to all but Carl.

"Hey, you gotta tell us all about Harry Karr, I hear he does the weirdest interviews ever," the young actor laughed jovially.

"Um," Peter said, standing and walking towards the hallway, "I'll go and get Jilly. She's been texting with her little friends for the past hour."

Dinner conversation was primarily focused with Michonne's stories of weird interviewers and odd questions from said weird interviewers.

"I made your favorite cake so why don't we have some while we sit down in the family room," Gina suggested as she stood get everyone's favorite cake.

Dinner was lively as usual but an unacknowledged unease hung in the air. It was subtle at first but became more noticeable as the night went on. Something was off with Rick.

Michonne went into the kitchen while Gina was slicing healthy pieces of the cake for everyone.

"I came in to help," Michonne said upon entering the very modern and well equipped kitchen.

"You didn't have to, but I appreciate the company," Gina said turning to see the regal actress standing behind her.

"Have I told you that you look beautiful? Not that that's anything new," Gina laughed.

"I appreciate it. And yes, you did tell me," Michonne said, smiling back at her sweet friend.

They began plating the dessert.

"Uh, what's going on with Rick?" Gina asked, attempting to look at her friends face, "he seems kind of distant tonight. Maybe even a little angry. Did you guys have a fight?"

"No," Michonne responded as her eyes drifted up, replaying the events of the night. She had noticed something, but she thought it was just her imagination. Lately, Rick tended to be somewhat distant when she was gone. He remained that way for a short time right after she returned before easing back into his normal demeanor. It generally only lasted for a day or two. They would make love and after a while the off-putting mood would eventually dissipate.

They'd made love right before heading out the door barely two hours ago. He was detached, which wasn't really that unusual, but something was different.

Gina noticed the introspective look on Michonne's face. She walked closer to her and touched her hand. "Are you sure everything's okay? You don't seem quite positive."

"Uh, he always hates when I leave. He understands but he doesn't like it, so things are always a little off when I come back," she said, _This does feel different than the other times though._

Gina smiled, "Well I'm glad to hear it. Y'all are our favorite couple. I've never seen two people more in love—so that makes me happy."

Michonne looked in her face and saw the truth in her words. She, Peter, Carl and Jilly truly loved her and they and they truly loved Rick.

The hostess picked up three of the saucers and then looked at Michonne with a more serious look on her face, "The one thing that can end a good relationship is neglect. People say its everything from infidelity to money, or whatever. But the real thing that ends a marriage or a relationship is forgetting to pay attention to the little things," she said whistfullly, recalling marital challenges from years gone by...

"...Being mindful of each other's wants and needs is an ongoing, everyday responsibility. I'm not saying that you neglect him or that he neglects you, but take it from an old married woman; it's a real relationship killer." She leaned over and kissed Michonne's cheek...

"Dont stop paying attention to him, and don't allow him stop paying attention to you. The two of you have something really special...remember that, " she tilted her head forward and offered a soft smile…

"Well, now that I'm done being Doctor Phil—let's go eat cake," she laughed, exiting the kitchen with the three saucers in hand.

Michonne followed with the other three plates. _Rick certainly doesn't neglect me. He's probably the sweetest man I've ever known. He's so beautiful. It's pretty clear Gina means I'm the one neglecting him. Shit—am I?_

She sat the plates on the table and looked at her handsome man. He was playing a game on his phone. She touched his arm and placed the dessert in front of him.

"Here you go baby," she said, leaning over to kiss his lips. His eyes opened wide with mild surprise. Michonne was not one for any overt public displays of intimacy. She gazed into his eyes, _I love you so much_. Almost as if he could read her thoughts, he reached up, cupping her face and pulled her back down for another kiss. He stroked her face with his fingers before opening his mouth to deepen the kiss.

"Yuck—get a room," Carl shouted from the other side of the table.

"Hush boy," Gina told her overly vocal son.

x – x – x - x

The drive home was quiet. Rick punched the code into the keypad once they pulled into the driveway outside of Michonne's condominium. He parked in the underground garage. The space next to her parked car was her second assigned spot. The walk into the lobby and subsequent elevator ride to the condo was done in silence. Rick dropped the keys in the glass tray sitting next to the door and walked directly to the kitchen. She watched him retrieve a beer from the refrigerator, twist of the cap, and then the bounce of his Adam's Apple as he gulped the cold liquid.

"It was nice to spend time with them. They're certainly my favorite wacky family," she said with a light giggle to her voice. It was her attempt to break the tension. The ever growing chasm between them seemed larger than it was before leaving the Fimbres house.

"Uh huh," he mumbled before taking another gulp of beer. His eyes remained focused on the wall behind her.

She walked over to him and wrapped her arms around his waist; squeezing him gently. She dropped her hands to the front of his pants and began to move them towards his crotch. It only took a moment before his aroused state was obvious. She rubbed the stiffness in his pants. He backed away, tilting the bottle up and finishing off the remaining beer.

"I'm gonna head to bed," he said, tossing the bottle into the trash can.

She froze, dumbfounded, _Did he just turn down sex?_ Their sexual relationship connected them on a level far beyond anything carnal. It filled any gaps that distance had caused. She craved the closeness as she was sure he did as well. The feeling of rejection permeated her spirit.

The smile fell from her lips and was replaced with a small pout. She rubbed her face and sighed deeply, troubled by this uncharacteristic rebuff of her offered affection.

"Rick," she said, approaching him, "What's wrong?"

"I'm tired," he replied, sitting on the couch; beginning to remove his boots.

"Obviously something is going on. Can we talk about it?"

He sat up and leaned back into the cushion of the couch. His sigh was deep as he ran his hands through his hair.

She watched his body language. Something was really bothering him, _What things have I missed? I'm sure I've been paying attention to you._

"I wanna be with you," he confessed quietly, keeping his eyes on the large framed picture of their cast; it sat on the mantle above the fireplace.

"'I wanna be with you, too," she said, sitting down in the wingback chair facing him, "but I'm back for a whole week..."

His laugh was a dry, "You don't get it. I miss you all the time. I want you—not just a part of you. I want us to be together."

"I do get it," she leaned forward, "I do, and I want that too."

"You don't," he snapped, "You've made a choice to be away from me. You've chosen to keep us separated."

"What is that supposed to mean?" she sat up straight and squinted her eyes at him.

"We've barely been together in the past month. And when we are, you purposely keep me separated from every other part of your life."

"That's not true."

"It is—the fact that you don't see it is the bigger problem."

"What bigger problem?" She huffed and curled her lips.

"You know," his clenched jaw belied the tight-lipped smile spread across his face, "last night when I got home from the party, I looked at some photos of you online. There were photos of you with Mike, photos with you and some friends, and photos of you with all your new co-stars from the movie…"

He lowered his eyebrows, "But you know what I didn't see?"

"Does this have something to do with Sherry? Her coming onto you…"

"This has _nothin'_ to do with her. I don't even blame her. Same way I didn't blame Heath or Josh. I don't blame anybody who's not completely sure that we're together."

"What are..."

"You know what I didn't see?" he continued on, "Not one picture of us together—outside of something related to the show," he laughed, "Our _fans_ have cropped a buncha pictures of us together—they apparently want us together more than you do."

"I can't believe you'd…"

"So what is it?" He trudged on, ignoring her words and facial expression, "why can you go out hand-in-hand with Mike, but not with me? Not one event. Show. Premier. Hell, not even out to a simple breakfast or dinner. Nothin'," he stared her down, "All these things you go to—do your friends and co-stars go with their significant others? The one's that aren't single, do they go alone?"

"Yes—I mean, No—uh, what did—I didn't think—we didn't talk…" she stammered. Her head was in a tailspin but she was slowly catching up to his insinuation.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," he rubbed his temples and kept his eyes glued to hers.

She crinkled her nose blinking back tears.

"You knew I would have to do this promo tour," she lowered her voice, "I don't understand why you're so upset."

"This has nothin' to do with the tour. This is you and me," he waved his hands between them; "You know exactly what I'm talking about." He watched her for a moment; _I swear I don't want to hurt you—ever._ Seeing her face and how his words were cutting through her was overwhelming, _I love you so much, but I can't do this anymore._

He reached down and slipped back on the one boot he'd removed before standing.

"…And I'm not upset. Well, I guess maybe I am," he stood facing her; "You just need to be honest."

The room became silent. He ran his hands over his beard and watched her.

She stared past him, mindlessly moving her necklace pendant from side to side. She wiped away the stray tear that fell and then sighed, "It's different for you," she said.

"What do you mean it's different for me?" He asked, cocking his head to the side.

"It's different. People look at a white guy who's dating a black woman like he's special or doing some kinda favor for her. Maybe you get some racists making comments, but…"

"But what?!" He barked.

"But the black person gets it from every direction. And in most cases, worse from other black people. For every person who says live and let live, there's those who act like you're some kinda sellout."

"Wait a minute," he faced her, the ire in his expression hitting its peak, "You're gonna let other people determine the parameters of our relationship?"

"I'm not saying that," she said as calmly as she could while rising from her seated position. She could see that his face was quickly becoming crimson red.

"That's what it sounds like to me."

"I'm not—but I don't want everything I've done in my career, my life, to boil down to being the woman who hooked up with her co-star. People will probably even assume that I caused your divorce."

"But we and everybody that matters in our lives know the truth…"

"Truth or not," she interrupted, "You and I both know that it's all about how it looks; about perception. You think I'll be given the benefit of the doubt from people who think you're still married?"

"And whose fault is that," he scoffed, "I wanted to shout from the rafters that we're together from the moment we left Denise's office."

"I know…" she admitted.

"So what is it Michonne? Black people won't understand? Fans won't understand? People think I'm still married? You're a private person? Which is it? What excuse are you usin' today to keep me out of the majority of your life?" He stopped to look in her eyes before continuing…

"…I'm who I am Michonne—I can't change that. I don't wanna change that; just like I don't want you to change who you are." He said, turning to walk down the hallway towards the bedroom.

"I _don't_ want you to change," she said, following closely behind him.

"Yes you do," he disagreed, turning on the light in the room, "Some things I can change. But, I'm a 38-year-old divorced white guy. I have a teenage son. I'm an actor on an overrated television show. And I'm deeply in love with my co-star. Those are things I can't change."

"I'm not sayin'—I mean, I know," the jumbled thoughts in her head were coming out of her mouth the same way.

"Do you, Michonne?" He chuckled sardonically.

"Rick, I don't wanna argue," she stayed on his heels.

"Well too bad, 'cuz that's what's happenin'," he turned to face her.

"You didn't want our co-stars to find out about us, but guess what, they _did_ and the world didn't explode. You were afraid that RJ and my parents wouldn't love you, but, guess what—they do."

"Rick," her tone was becoming more panicked, "I'm a private person, you know that."

"It's more than that though, isn't it?"

"Rick…"

"We've been together for over a year and I've never even met your family, friends, no one…"

"You've met my parents," she tried to refute his claim, "and my sisters…"

"No," he snapped, "Your platonic friend and co-worker Rick Grimes met your family. Your boyfriend has never met your family or your friends. The man who loves you more than any other woman he's ever known, has never met them," he laughed, "It's my fault. I let you set the rules of our relationship from the beginning. All the hiding, sneaking around; like you're embarrassed or ashamed."

"That's not true and you know it."

"Huh," he scoffed, "Do I?" He asked before turning to walk into the attached restroom; opening the medicine cabinet and removing his toothbrush.

"Everything—I've put everything into my career—to show that women can be strong and smart and loving and successful. I never compromised who I am. I wanted young girls to know that they could be anything they ever wanted to be if they just worked hard; without compromising who they are." She challenged with her arms crossed.

"Good—Glad you got everything you set out to get," he retorted with a chuckle; narrowing his eyes on her. He scratched his face, taking a brief glance at himself in the mirror. He looked next to his reflection and saw hers, _Damn you're so beautiful_. Tears were welling in her eyes. He closed the cabinet, walked past her, and back into the bedroom.

"Rick…" she mumbled following him back into the bedroom, "did you even hear what I said? I can't let myself become nothing more than some punch line."

"Yes, I heard you," he stopped and shook his head, "You're an incredible woman. Anybody who can't see that or says anything different is a damn fool." He took a deep breath…

"…And I'd hoped that I was a part of the _Everything_ that you wanted," he said, pulling a bag from the closet.

"You are," she could hear the growing plea in her voice.

"Everybody in my life knows about you. Everybody!"

She couldn't respond. She had no true explanation. What could she say? The dichotomy between her words and her actions was glaring.

He watched her before turning to the dresser; pulling various items from the drawers.

"Can we…" she couldn't formulate the words. Her train of thought was gone as she watched him. The wheels in her brain were turning; they had not yet caught up to the words he said, or the ramifications of what was happening.

He tossed the items into the bag.

"Where are you going?" She asked, scared to death at what the answer might be.

"I'm gonna stay at my house tonight."

"Why—can't we talk about this? I mean, you've obviously been thinking about this. You need to give me the chance to catch up."

He ignored the question and request; continuing his task without looking at her.

"You know why I fell so madly in love with you? It wasn't just your beauty and your sweetness," he was bent over the bed where the valise sat; "It was because you loved me. Not some idolized version of me—just me. You wanted me as much as I wanted you. You didn't have to even say it—I just knew—and it was the best feelin' I've ever known in my life."

"Rick…" the welled tears were falling down her face. His words left a stinging pain. She was processing the first blow when he hit her with the next.

"…I'd never had that before. My ex-wife loved me for what she wanted me to be, and when I didn't fit into that box, there was nothing left for us…" he paused for a moment. She watched his shoulders slump before closing the bag.

"…I never thought I'd have to be somethin' else for you." He picked up the small piece of luggage and brushed past her.

"You don't!" She shouted.

Not bothering to look back into her direction he walked out of the room towards the front door.

"Are—are you ending things—breaking up with me?" They were the most difficult words she'd ever said in her life. The hardest questions she'd ever asked. All her fears and insecurities were manifesting themselves right before her eyes.

He stopped.

"No—Never!" he said emphatically, "You're my life, even if I'm not yours," his tone was low and husky. The sorrow behind his words was unmistakable.

"Baby…" she mumbled in a whisper.

He looked into her eyes; tears were falling down her face.

"I wish to _Hell_ you'd just break up with me and put me out of my _Damn_ misery!"

She followed behind keeping up with his hurried pace.

"You don't mean that. I know you don't…" her hands were trembling; her chest seemed unable to contain her rapidly pounding heart. "We need to talk…"

"There's nothin' to talk about. You let me know when you're ready to add me into your life." He closed the door behind him as the final two words left his mouth.

* * *

A/N: I know that was rough - Don't hate me **offers a warm smile** The finale will be posted early next week. Thanks again for reading. All reviews are welcome and very appreciated. Have a wonderful weekend. Blessings :-)


	9. Chapter 9 - For The World To See

**Authors Note:** Well, we've reached the end of this story. I am sincerely grateful and humbled by all who have read, commented, and followed. I feel like this is my baby…so it's bittersweet to post, thus end, this journey. Every kind word that you've said has warmed my heart in a way that you'll never know. It's like getting a compliment on a child that's worked your nerve at home but is incredibly well behaved in public. Even the criticism has served to, I hope, make me a better writer. Thank you all so very much... Please enjoy.

* * *

 **Chapter 9 – For The World To See**

What had she missed? What neglect had she unknowingly perpetrated?

The week had been hard. The love of her life had essentially put her on a time-out. He'd refused to sit down and talk. Her attempts to have any type of communication had been muted. His response to her for the first few days was different variations of, _"I need time to think."_ By the fourth day she stopped asking. It ended up being a week of self-discovery and isolation.

Her readymade assembly line excuses were prepared and waiting for everyone from friends to family members and media outlets that called with invites to functions. The pizza delivery man, Chinese food delivery man, and a few grocery store customers were the only people she saw during the week. With her complete withdrawal from all social media, that handful of individuals had been her only actual connection to the world.

Busying herself all morning had allowed her to keep the thoughts at bay—somewhat. Outrunning the disquiet in your head had probably never worked for anyone since the discovery of cognitive recognition – of that she was pretty sure.

A business card fell out of her sweat pants when she tossed them on the clothes hamper. She looked at the fallen card and let out yet another groan. It had been seven days of doubts. The card was a mocking reminder of her ability to actively avoid anything that wasn't palatable. She bent down and picked up the embossed item. _Denise Cloyd, PhD, Specializing in non-couple_ _Couples Counseling._

Michonne had toyed with the idea of reaching out to Denise for days. However, calling her meant that there was a problem that the smart and highly intuitive actress was unable to fix on her own. She'd stared at and held the card so much during the week that the remnants of tears, spaghetti sauce and mint chip ice cream stains were now a permanent part of it.

Today was harder than the other days. Leaving town without talking to Rick was breaking her heart. Waking up this final morning in town to that realization caused her, to again, pick up the now frayed and sullied card.

"I probably should've called you," she told the stained inanimate object. The sweet face of the very humble and somewhat awkward therapist flashed into her mind's eye.

"When working through something that seems unsolvable; expressing the problem can often times reveal the solution," she smiled, repeating the words that Denise frequently espoused during their sessions. _The sessions— Guess we need actual couples counseling now._

She sighed and placed it on the counter before going back into the bedroom. Glancing in the long mirror brought a sad giggle, _Denise would've just made you see what you've already figured out_.

A few months earlier…

"You head on over there. I'm gonna get the pot roast into the slow cooker so it'll be ready by the time we get home. We can have it for lunch tomorrow," she said, watching him pull his shirt over his head. He stepped in front of the mirrored closet doors. His hair was still damp. The bathroom mirror obscured her reflection with steam remaining from the shower. He ran his hands through his slowly drying tresses; rigorously shaking his head to rid his hair of the remaining water. He then tucked his tight fitting green t-shirt into his blue jeans before quickly removing it.

She watched him from the sink. The goofy expression he was making at his mirror image made her giggle to herself, mindlessly dipping her hand into the jar of mango Shea butter and rubbing it on her bare shoulders and down her arms.

"You have any idea how good bordering on cute you look fixing yourself in the mirror?" She seductively joked, coming to a stop next to him. They stood side-by-side facing the mirrored doors. Seconds passed as they ogled the other. She was clad in a white lace bra and matching boy shorts.

"If you keep lookin' at me like that, we ain't makin' it to that party," he informed her while gliding his hand down her newly lathered skin. True to his hint at salacious activity, he grabbed her and nuzzled his face into the sweet scent of mango and vanilla.

"Mmm," she coquettishly giggled, "if that beard gets any longer, I'm not gonna be able to feel your lips under the hair." She gave him a quick peck on the lips before backing out of his arms.

"I don't like the sound of that," he said glancing back at his reflection and stroked the mane in question, "I need you to have access to my lips, and I definitely need full access to both sets of yours." That last part with said with his own homegrown southern flirtatious smirk.

"Such a one track mind," she teasingly admonished over her shoulder walking back to the lavatory.

"Yeah, you know you love it," he watched the bounce of her lusciously round rear. The way the shorts slid up and into her cushiony folds as she walked was hypnotizing. Her figure could make a Coke bottle jealous.

"Stop staring at my ass Rick and get going," she ordered with a laugh.

"Stop walking around teasin' me like that," he scoffed.

"I'm serious, Rick."

"So am I. Stop advertisin'."

The couple had spent most of the day in bed. As was their usual behavior, after the week of filming was over, they spent the weekends alone-together in either her condo or his house.

Exceptions to their self imposed confinement was when RJ was in town, when Michonne was traveling, or when there was a party of some kind to attend.

Tonight was a birthday party that Maggie was throwing for her boyfriend Donald. She pulled out all the stops for the casual-dress event; even rented out one of the larger rooms in the Atlanta Arboretum.

"I'm getting dressed. Only your dirty mind sees it as advertising," she told him, picking up her blouse from the bed and sliding her arms into the sleeves.

"There's really no reason for us to take different cars," he quickly said.

His sudden change of subject gave her pause.

He watched as her movements slowed. Lately, this was becoming a broken record in their relationship.

"Michonne," he challenged.

"Rick," she returned the challenge.

"Everyone knows. They don't say it—but we both know that they _all_ know," his arms remained crossed with his gaze fixed on her.

She inhaled deeply, not wanting to have the same discussion. The same discussion that at times turned into an oh-so-subtle disagreement. Never quite making it to an argument, but definitely teetering on the brink of one.

He stood watching her. Standing his ground in more than just a literal sense.

"Even if they do..." she buttoned the blouse and went to the closet.

"Baby," he softened the tone that was getting mildly demanding, "I'm not saying that we make out at the party, just ride together. Friends can ride together, _right_?"

Of course he was right. She knew he was right. It had been a year of being in their private bubble. Letting their friends, coworkers, and eventually the public into that bubble was not something she wanted, or was ready for, _I just like keeping you to myself_. She glanced his way.

He was not letting it go...

"Okay, you're right," she acquiesced, "just let me finish getting ready. Can you toss the vegetables and the roast into the crock pot for me?" She asked.

The huge smile that spread across his face sent warmth through her body; an amazing feeling of love that made her heart skip. She was continually amazed at how a love that she thought had reached its peak and couldn't possibly reach higher or grow larger, continued to do just that. _How is it even possible to love somebody so much?_ She radiated at the thought.

"Pretty sure I can manage that," he gave her a peck on the cheek and practically skipped out of the room.

She couldn't help but giggle at him. It really didn't take much to please him. Meat and potatoes. Mobster movies and old westerns. Talking and cuddling. Sex and more sex. That was Rick Grimes in a nutshell.

He was the boyfriend trifecta, Kind-Considerate-Honest, _Also incredible in bed. Pretty sure that makes him a, uh, quad-fecta, which I'm pretty sure isn't an actual word, I'll be damned if it's not the truth though. S_ he laughed.

The past year had been seamless. It had been the best year of her life. This new need of his to be more public with something new. It was throwing a wrench into the spokes of a perfectly running relationship; in her humble opinion.

She shouted, "Don't forget to wash the roast before you put it in the pot. The vegetables are already cut up in..."

"The Tupperware with the red top," he shouted back, already knowing what she'd say, "I'm an old country boy, Michonne. You _know_ my mama taught me how to cook. I think I can manage a pot roast in a crock pot." She could hear him chuckle although he had already made it to the kitchen.

"Thank you, honey."

 _I spent that whole night keeping my distance from him. I saw the look on his face when Heath kept coming on to me. He was bothered. I knew he was bothered. Shit. He never said anything to Heath—or to me. Why would he? I mean, I've never given him a reason to be jealous. He knows I'd never cheat. Dammit. I've handled everything wrong._ She grimaced while her thoughts ran rampant.

 _His body language was shouting his discontent._ _He needed me to hear him. Even if he didn't say it out loud._ "Why didn't you just tell me, Rick?"

She continued to simmer in her own guilt while recalling the party. The van shoot. The times on set. All the times where she kept her distance. All the times she worried about what others would think. He never really complained, but it was right there. Right in front of her.

There was so much that he was trying to tell her, _Why didn't I pick up on it? Why didn't you tell me how much it bothered you,_ "I'm not a damn mind reader," she mumbled to herself again.

The honk of the cabs horn in the distance alerted her that her transportation to the airport had arrived. She glanced around the expanse of her front room to make sure she hadn't forgotten anything. The place seemed so empty. It barely felt like home without Rick's coffee mug sitting on the counter or his slippers near the door.

"It was in front of my face and I just ignored it," she sighed at the realization.

The follow up honk brought her back to the present. She rolled the oversized suitcase into the hallway and locked the door.

"Time to get the show on the road," she said, walking slowly to the elevator.

x – x – x – x

It had been two weeks since he'd seen Michonne. His responses to her text messages were short and curt. It was not his intention to stay away from her - initially - but he really needed to get his mind straight. He avoided all her attempts to get together during the week she was at home. The excuses ranged from needing to do work around the house to visits with his parents. He waited until she left town to pick up her car and take it to the mechanic for the maintenance it required. He also watered the plants that she chronically forgot to tend. His indoor gardening skills weren't the greatest, but they were a few steps above hers.

 _Why am I so angry?_ Was a question he asked himself over and over again. Through hours of self-reflection he realized it was something that had been building for quite some time. He knew without question, _She hasn't changed who she is. She's exactly the same._ That realization could only lead to one conclusion…he was the one who had changed.

The days went by slowly; each day beginning and ending much like the one before. He did everything he could to push thoughts of her out of his head, _You're a fool Rick—you need to just call her_ , but he didn't. No matter how many sleepless nights he had or how much he longed for her, he didn't.

Being angry at her wasn't that hard, _I have every right to be mad_ , however, understanding the true reason behind the anger was something entirely different. _Why now?_ Was a question he couldn't answer.

 _I should've taken you to the airport. A damn cab. What kinda man doesn't drop his woman off at the airport? Granddaddy's probably rollin' over in his grave. So much for bein' a southern gentleman._

"I need to talk to your mom," he told the ferns, peace lily's and single anthurium as he watered them.

He opened the blinds to give the thriving vegetation light. "She drives me so damn crazy—life would be simpler if I could just get her outta my system," he laughed, lifting the anthurium and moving it closer to the light. The plants four bright red florets had recently bloomed. He smiled at the thought of his love. The vibrant, beautiful and strong showy flowers reminded him of her.

"She's in my blood—I breathe her…" he stared out of the window. It was early but the city was already alive with activity. "Maybe I'm just tryin' to punish her for not…" he stopped. _For what?_ He couldn't vocalize his reasons to himself, much less to the foliage.

 _I knew she was super private when I first met her. How can I be mad at her for just being who she is?_

"Y'all probably think I'm crazy. I probably am." He picked up the blanket she'd left on the couch before leaving town and raised it to his face. Her scent was still there. His body livened and his smile increased. Her scent conjured thoughts of her face, arms, legs and touch. She'd left the blanket strewn across the couch.

She'd been sleeping in the living room. He could tell. It was more than just the disheveled blankets resting on the sofa. He made up beds with meticulous precision, having had a military man as a father. Michonne was much more lax in her bed making skills.

Her bed was still thoroughly made; sheets crisp and corners tucked the way it was when he made it before heading out to the Fimbres dinner party _that_ night. _The night I stormed out like a jerk leaving her at the door crying. Asking for some type of discussion or some kinda explanation._

He folded the blanket and draped it over the back of the couch. "How is it possible to be so in love with someone?" He asked the house plants and furniture.

He pulled out his phone, unlocked it, and typed out a quick text…

 _ **The plants are fed. Hope you're enjoying your day.**_

He reviewed his words. They were distant. They were cold. They were the exact opposite of what was in his mind and in his heart.

He just wasn't ready to let her off the hook. The hook of _what_ was the question. Ignoring his heart, he tapped the arrow sending the text. Less than a minute later is phone chimed. He looked down at the message.

 _ **Thank you baby. I hope your day is going good too. I miss you so much Rick.**_

A heart emoji followed her words. He ran his thumb over the words before slipping the phone back into his pocket. If he responded he'd be bridging the distance that had so painstakingly been built over the past two weeks.

 _Stop being so damn ridiculous Rick. You need to just call her._ He roamed around her empty apartment for the next hour before deciding that he wasn't ready to let her off the metaphorical hook yet. He needed to figure out what he wanted from this relationship and so did she. What were they building towards? If anything.

This was the second week. The third week would be even more grueling.

x – x – x - x

Due to her shooting schedule, she hadn't been able to do the entire juggernaut of promotion dates with her movie co-stars. Filming for the television show had wrapped for the season which permitted her to finally join the rest of the cast. The press junket had been a planned whirlwind.

Michonne's fan base had grown exponentially since the first trailer hit the theaters and took over social media. She was quietly disappointed that her schedule was so jam packed. It made her ability to fix things with Rick just that much more difficult. She and Rick needed to talk.

Three weeks of the silent treatment; his choice, not hers. There had been text messages but they were short and the phone conversations rushed…..

If she had taken more time to think it through, to really consider her actions, there's no way she'd be doing this. 'Overthinking everything' is what Sasha always called it. So, no overthinking - she just picked up the phone and did it.

"Hi, there," her greeting was light and cheerful.

"Hey, how are you?" Mike asked.

"I'm good. Busy, but good. How are you?"

"Everything's going well. I just partnered with a couple of other agents. Looks like it's gonna be a beneficial partnership for all of us. We're gonna be a force to be reckoned with in the industry."

"I'm glad to hear that, Mike. I know you've worked really hard."

"Thanks. I appreciate that."

There was a momentary silence on the line.

"So what's up?" Mike asked. They hadn't spoken in months, and that was in passing. They saw each other at a friend's party in New York. Michonne was not a casual type of person. As soon as he saw her name and face appear on his phone, he knew there was a purpose behind the call.

 _Let's cut to the chase,_ "How are you _really_ doing?" He inquired further.

"Um," she knew why she called; kind of. _How do I put this into words? This is stupid. I shouldn't've called him._ Her silence was just long enough for him to interject.

"How's the show? It's still a ratings powerhouse I see," he said.

"Yeah." she was still formulating her thoughts; her reasons for calling him.

"What's going on? Are you okay?"

She sighed. _This is stupid. Who calls their old boyfriend regarding their new boyfriend?_

Almost as if he could read her thoughts, "Does this have to do with your costar?"

"Huh?" His insight came as a surprise. His correct assumption was a jolt, pulling her out of her thoughts.

"There've been rumors on social media for months. I think there was even an out of focus picture of you two floating around the internet."

"Oh."

"You know I don't pay much attention to that kind of stuff—and I know you don't." He paused, giving her a moment to respond. She didn't.

"Talk to me, what's goin' on?"

"Yeah— uh yes, Rick and I have been together for over a year now."

"I'm hap…"

"Mike," she blurted, "Did I push you away when we were together. Did I neglect you when we were together?" She managed to ask the question that she pretty much already knew the answer to

"Uh," he laughed, "You _are_ full of surprises," his laughter amplified.

The line was again silent. Mike let out an uneasy chuckle. Michonne breathed deep regretting having called, and also regretting asking the question.

"I wouldn't say that you were distant, Michonne. You had a lot goin' on and so did I. When we were together I felt like you gave me as much as you could. Honestly…" he laughed, "there was a certain amount of passion that I kinda felt you held back. And believe me—that's not a knock on you. Maybe it's a knock on us as a couple."

"Uh—okay," she said.

"Did he say that you were distant or neglectful or something?"

"Not in so many word—but…" she stopped.

"The fact that you're reaching out to me—which I know couldn't've been easy for you—must mean that this guy means a lot to you," it was more of a question then it was a statement. He hesitated to give her an opportunity to respond.

"Yeah. He actually means a lot to me. And—I think maybe I pushed him away. I'm just trying—to figure it out." As stupid as she felt calling Mike, the feeling of stupidity was now compounded by the crying that wouldn't hold off. She wiped her eyes and tried to hide her soft sniffles.

"Michonne…" he said.

When he received her call he was going through paperwork at his desk; immersed in putting together the final touches of his big deal. He wasn't quite prepared for an emotional conversation, but it was clear that that's what this was going to be. He got up and closed his office door.

"…Look, its okay. You know I'm the last one who should ever give relationship advice, but since you thought enough of me to call, I'm gonna say this", he sat back down and stared at the pen in his hand, "You're a phenomenal woman, and I imagine that your guy knows that. You need to stop worrying about everybody else and what everybody else thinks. He's a lucky guy…"

She pressed mute on her phone so he couldn't hear her crying while she listened.

"Michonne—did you hear me?"

She tapped the mute button, "Yeah," she mumbled.

"I feel honored that you thought enough of me to call, but I think you should probably talk to him."

"I would—but he won't talk to me," she whimpered.

The words came out incredibly muffled but he was able to make out her words, "Well even if he doesn't want to talk to you now—I'll bet that he probably feels just as bad, if not worse, than you do..."

"…When you talk to him Michonne," he paused, "Listen to me…"

"Uh—huh," she mumbled.

"…Step outside of yourself and just let yourself be…"

There was a time when he was going to ask her if she had a 'thing' for Rick Grimes. Her strong dislike for him was so uncharacteristic. He thought that there may be something that she wasn't telling him. After a while he realized that even if she had some feelings for him – she was clearly not conscious of it. So he let that sleeping dog lie. This was surely not the time to bring it up.

"…I won't tell you to not cry—I've been around enough females to know that saying that only infuriates you," he laughed, "so I'll just say—cry as much as you want, and then when you stop, try and talk to him."

"Thanks Mike," she said quietly, "I'll talk with you later."

This was the first day since leaving Atlanta that she'd allowed herself to lament her losses. Calling Mike had been a last ditched effort to put all the puzzle pieces together. He was, after all, the only one she'd been seriously involved with since college. Her first real committed adult relationship...other than Rick.

She was still processing the call and pulling herself together when the knock and a loud jovial conversation wafted into the room. Brad, Gary, Danny and Letty had become good friends. They had dinner together most evenings while they were on the road. Tomorrow was the big premier of the movie studios newest planned-blockbuster. It had been nonstop travel. At one point she forgot what city they were in.

Her eyes were still red and a little puffy. She dried her face and put on her best-cheery façade; years of acting did have its benefits. She shook off the stress, took a deep breath, and then went to the door.

Their complexions varied from the milkiest of chocolate to the richest of dark chocolate. A true chocolate rainbow. "Hey guys—you all look beautiful as always. I'm ready to go." She popped on her sunglasses, and plastered on a smile as they all traipsed to the elevator laughing and clowning.

x - x - x - x - x

After nearly three weeks it was time to do something. Ricks decision to fly to California and spend time with RJ was a complete 'spur of the moment' decision.

He landed at the John Wayne Airport in Orange County early in the afternoon. After nearly an hour of haggling with clerks at two different car rental places - it was a jammed packed weekend in and around the larger cities in Southern California - he managed to get a mid-sized rental. He tossed his suitcase and garment bag into the car and headed towards the 405 freeway onramp; bound for Huntington Beach.

"Hey Abe," Rick greeted his agent.

"Rick. What's going on?" The gregarious agent asked.

"I'm in California. Just landed a short time ago."

"What the hell are you doin' there? And thanks for letting me know," his annoyance easy traveling through the phone lines.

"I'm letting you know now. It was an uh—impromptu trip…" Rick responded calmly; intent on not letting his overbearing manager get under his skin, "…visit with my son." Seeing RJ was just an excuse. He couldn't stay in Atlanta any longer. His decision to give Michonne the cold shoulder was killing him. Claiming the moral high ground had its perks without question. But in the end, he was left him standing on that ground alone and lonely.

Rick called his ex-wife once he deboarded. He was planning to hangout with his son for a few days. One benefit of keeping a civil relationship with his ex was that she was generally willing to roll with his plans as they changed. She never balked too much if he popped up unannounced - which he rarely did.

Their divorce and subsequent custody agreement never turned acrimonious. Keeping silent when she complained about something was a small price to pay.

He'd stopped being her doormat some time back, but there was a fine line that he walked which kept the peace, " _catch more flies with honey than vinegar_ ," his mom reminded him when he complained during the divorce proceedings a few years back.

Abe was uncharacteristically quiet for a moment.

"Is everything okay?" Abe asked, in a soft tone that nearly made Rick check the name on his phone to ensure he was still speaking to his loud and brash agent...

"Never known you to just leave town. You're the most over-plannin' son-a-bitch I've ever known. You schedule unscheduled shit," the ginger manager found the words which had previously escaped him.

"I'm just letting you know so that you don't schedule anything in Atlanta for the next few days," Rick said, merging onto the 405 freeway; attempting to avoid an aggressive big rig.

"Hmm," Abe pondered, "Okay—'preciate you lettin' me know."

"Look—if they're still interested in me doin' that play at the Pasadena Playhouse—I uh—I'd like to do it."

"Are you fuckin' with me? You've been sayin' no for the past two months."

"I know—but yeah, I'll do it if they haven't already cast it," Rick told his unfiltered manager. Both the play's writer and director had asked for him specifically. They held off casting it until the television show was on hiatus. He liked the idea of being so close to RJ; just over an hour with little traffic.

However, the play would be during the summer and the busy teen already had three different camps lined up. They would barely see each other. And then, there was Michonne. It didn't make much sense. There was no logical reason for it. But Atlanta was their home. Once she was off the promotion circuit, he wanted to be at home with her. Their time had been so abbreviated that the idea of rehearsing for a play and all the performances – it just wasn't appealing. But now…

"They just contacted me again yesterday. So yeah—they sure as shit want your country ass."

Rick couldn't help but laugh. No matter how long he'd know Abe, the words that came out of his mouth never stopped surprising him. "Okay," he managed to say while laughing and maneuvering through stop and go traffic.

"They'll probably want you to start rehearsals next week. Can you do it?"

 _That should give me enough time_ , "Yeah, that'll be fine," he said.

"Fuckin' A—tell the kid I say hey." He said, ending the call without further discussion.

His flight to the west coast, like much of the days prior, had been wrought with self-reflection. He decided to climb out of his head. Take his mind completely off of her. He grabbed a magazine from the seat and then started a movie. The distraction of both was what was needed.

As he mindlessly opened the nondescript magazine, an article entitled 'What's Wrong with Being Right' stared back at him. He chuckled, realizing that the magazine was _Psychology Today._

"What are the damn chances of that?" he mumbled to himself. The older man sitting next to him looked over and offered a polite nod. It was almost as if the universe had conspired against him. Maybe not against him, but a conspiracy none-the-less.

 _Practicing open-mindedness and reflection is enormously valuable in our close relationships. It can be very difficult for those of us who have long been so attached to being right. It's freeing, but humbling—strong medicine, but just what the doctor ordered._

He reread the passage a few times. Being right had never been that important to him. At some point, however, that seemed to change. There were years of being in the marriage where they both needed to get their point across; eventually not caring to compromise or see the others point of view. To keep whatever peace was possible in a crumbling marriage, he was the one who usually gave in. A lot of self-discovery had happened before coming to the realization that each time he threw in the towel he lost more and more of himself.

But…was he so rigidly fixed in his perspective that he was closed to seeing things any other way, _Is being right what really matters? Did I really take the time to hear what she was saying?_ Wow! Like a lightning bolt, there it was _._

It took an airplane ride and an old discarded magazine to figure out what he'd stressed over for the past three weeks. He finally had the answer to the _why_. He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead into his hands.

The _why_ …She'd unknowingly emasculated him. Much like his ex, he'd allowed himself to become a secondary player in his own relationship. _God—is that why I've been so damn mad at her? As different as the two women were, it was still_ déjà vu. _I expected her to pick up on something that I only just figured out._ _I found her guilty of a betrayal that she didn't even know she'd committed._

He looked out of the window; nothing but blue skies and billowy clouds surrounding them. He sighed deeply….

"Dad, they're having a big premiere in Hollywood tonight. I talked to Michonne and she said she's gonna be there."

"You talked to Michonne? When?" He attempted to hide his surprise and play it cool. The one thing he'd learned since being with Michonne was that his game face was not the best. All acting experience seemed to vanish where she was concerned. As luck would have it, his son was completely uninterested in his dad's adult antics.

"Earlier today," RJ relayed, barely paying attention to his father's interest, "Me, her, and Carl. She was at this comic book store in Westwood. She called me and then Carl. There's a new issue of Red Titan that was just released. She's was checking to see if we wanted it."

"Is that right?" Rick asked. His question only held a modicum of surprise. Michonne loved the boys unconditionally.

"Yeah—it was cool. Red Titan's not really one of my favorites. Carl likes him. But," his blue eyes lit up with glee, "she found one of the original copies of Death Ray when she was there. So yeah—suck it Carl."

"RJ," Rick admonished with just those two letter and side eye.

"Sorry dad," the younger Grimes snickered.

"Well, I'm glad she found you such an incredible treasure," his sarcastic tone was not lost on the intuitive teen.

"Don't be a hater dad. It is a big deal," he glared at his clueless father, "Oh, and, she's got a packed schedule for the next few days but she's gonna try to come out and see me before she leaves California. I already asked mom and she said it's fine."

"That's good. I'm sure she'll do her best to see you," Rick said.

"I know you can't really hang out with her because there's so many people around, but I'll let you hang out with us if she makes it out here." He smacked his dad's leg and laughed.

"Thank you, son. You're so kind," he said mockingly. Nearly a year ago RJ stopped asking why he and Michonne never went out in public together. Much like anyone or anything that's been conditioned through time and habit, he fell in line with the program. A program where secrecy was the key to entry.

Spending time with his young name sake always did his heart good. This was the first time since the argument with Michonne that he'd felt relaxed. There was such honesty in his son's words. He had no ulterior motives or hidden agendas. The young man was so innocent and open; completely unaware that his words were bothering his father, _Maybe I went too far—ignored her for too long._

RJ was too excited talking about his favorite actress to notice his dad's change of mood.

"Anyway dad," he continued, "They're gonna be streaming all the celebrities walking the red carpet live on YouTube. Even though it's not her movie, I bet they'll interview her," he excitedly relayed.

"Okay. We can do that." Rick said. His mind was all over the place, "We'll stop by the store and pick up some snacks for our viewing pleasure."

x – x – x – x – x

 _Success is_ _ **Nothing**_ _without someone you love to share it with_. She smiled at the thought of her favorite line from one of her favorite movies, Mahogany. _How apropos…I swear that line was written for me._ Her chaotic mind wailed. She chuckled so softly that only she could hear it.

It was early evening but the sun had not yet set for the day. The area surrounding the massive auditorium located on Hollywood Blvd. was a beehive of activity. Most of the street was cordoned off for the colossal event. The movie studio pulled out all the stops.

The cast of her movie went to the premier as a group.

"I don't think I'll ever get used to all of this," Danny said, looking over the crowd, "it's amazing."

They stood together after doing the many red carpet interviews and brief stops for pictures. Michonne was happy to be standing with people whom she'd come to consider friends over the past year. They all had such a sense of pride where their movie was concerned.

As the lead in their film had so eloquently put it in one his earlier interviews, " _This movie is gonna turn the superhero world on its ear."_ It was a feeling that they all shared while standing in the middle of the eager public.

"I have to agree," Gary said with a huge toothy grin.

"Yeah," Letty concurred, "I'm glad we're here together." She squeezed Brad's hand.

Michonne stood, listening to her friends. There was a mix of emotions surging through her. The feeling of seeing a dream come to fruition was overwhelming. This was tangible proof that all her hard work was paying off – in a big way. But was it? _He said he wasn't breaking up with me, but this sure as hell feels like a break up. I have to talk to him. I'll fly back to Georgia tonight._ She couldn't keep her mind off of him. _Is this really my payoff?_

"Michonne," Brad said, tapping her hand, "Did you hear me?" He raised his voice slightly to be heard over the loud chatter around them.

"Huh—I'm sorry," she turned to face him, "I didn't hear you."

"I was asking you if you were coming with us to the Getty event tonight," he asked.

"Uh, no," she stared over his shoulder at nothing in particular, fiddling with the diamond encrusted pendant hanging from the gold chain around her neck, "I'm gonna try and get a flight to Atlanta tonight," she replied in an almost dreamlike state. _I'll hire a skywriter to write I Love Rick Grimes over his house—no that's stupid. I'll tweet out some pictures I have of us kissing. No, Facebook, a video telling the world how much I love him. Probably Instagram—No I'll have Sasha put…_

"Michonne," the actor repeated as his friend stared into nowhere with an oddly satisfied look on her face.

"Where are you right now?" He tapped her arm; saying her name had not worked to bring her back to reality. She was smiling at something that obviously had nothing to do with them or their current location.

"Huh?" She was immersed in her thoughts. _Well, Rick Grimes, you may not be Billy Dee Williams in Mahogany, but I'm gonna go and get you the same way Diana went and got him._ Her thoughts were a jumbled mess all centered on _him_.

"Your mind definitely ain't here, Sis," Gary said, coming closer to Michonne. Her silent distraction had become loud enough for all of them to notice.

Brad's touch brought her back to the present. Both he and Gary were now standing directly in front of her. She refocused.

"I'm sorry," her giggle was soft, "Guess I have a lot on my mind."

She felt buzzing in her purse.

"No problem—it's all kinda crazy. I can't believe you're gonna get on a plane after all this," Brad remarked.

She pulled her phone out of her small clutch bag while only nodding a response. A small grin made its way to her face when she saw Rick's name illuminated. She could see the text message without unlocking the phone…

 _ **You look gorgeous baby…**_

Her small grin morphed into a huge animated smile that lit up her face. Just knowing that he was sitting at home in Atlanta watching her sent a wave of warmth through her body. Maybe he had forgiven her and was ready to talk. She was genuinely happy and felt close to him for the first time in weeks.

She glanced down at her phone and quickly typed out a reply...

 _ **Thank you. I'm so happy to hear from you. I miss you.**_

Her group or friends were surrounding her and continued to talk. She paid them no mind as she watched the dots bounce…

 _ **I've missed you too. BTW, those guys are standing a little too close to you...**_

She read the message and grinned, _Wait a minute, the camera's aren't on us anymore._ Her thumbs moved quickly over the small keypad on the phone…

 _ **Where are you?**_

She stared at the phone; watching the three dots jump as he typed his response...

 _ **I'm here with you. Right where I should be. I don't care if everyone thinks I'm just your co-star, as long as you know that I will always be there for you. I'm your biggest fan baby.**_

She raised her head and scanned the crowd. The faces mashed together into one big blur; there was almost no distinction. They were all just a sea of people holding up their phones to snap pictures, or paparazzi doing the same thing with actual cameras.

"Michonne, are you listening?" Gary asked his preoccupied friend. They were all discussing plans for the evening.

Her heart beat quicker as butterflies fluttered around in her stomach. Her face felt flushed. She scanned the crowd again, not acknowledging the question.

There he was. She spotted him standing amongst media and an assortment of notable entertainers. His hair was brushed back; the way he wore it on their first official date, _The Adonis archetype as I live and breathe_. He was wearing a black suit with a dark purple shirt underneath, _my favorite color_ —

Her heart was racing, seemingly unable to find its normal pace. Her stomach was doing somersaults. It happened quickly, but also in slow motion. Her feet picked up speed without her realization; she didn't know she was even moving. She rushed by people shouting her name, it was just white noise. She rushed by the cameras, she didn't see them; "… _Michonne…_ " came the shouts as she passed.

She brushed by those who tried to get her attention. Her embellished high heeled rhinestone studded sandals were all but ripping through the red carpet. Her full head of springy twists bouncing as her pace quickened.

She bumped into people standing around; busy while doing nothing in particular. Her speed increased, causing the wind to blow the wide legs and belt of her royal blue sleeveless jumper backwards. She rushed by those ambling about. All the handlers, assistants, security personnel faded into the background.

Her feet left the mat as she leapt into his arms. He stumbled backwards before regaining his footing. He grabbed her; holding her closely. Her arms wrapped around his neck. He was still trying to steady himself. She grabbed his face, placing her hands on either side of his face with her fingers splayed. She wasted no time capturing his lips with hers. His musky scent sending electricity through her body.

She hastily used her tongue to part his lips, opening their mouths. The kiss deepened, becoming feverish. She bit his bottom lip. He chuckled into her mouth. She was clearly oblivious to, or didn't care about, the hoots and hollers that were going on around them. All the, " _Rick's"_ , and the " _Michonne's_ ", that were being shouted fell on deaf ears. He chuckled again to lessen the sexual arousal that was happening to him.

Neither his chuckles nor the animatedly curious people around them seemed to slow her tongue from diving deeper into the warmth and sweetness of his mouth.

"Michonne," he whispered as her lips moved from his lips to his cheeks and then back to his lips.

"Baby," he attempted again to pull her out of her uninhibited frenzy. He backed his head away and looked into her face. He smiled. In this new devil-may-care mindset, she'd forgotten that she's a private person. She'd forgotten that some people may frown on their relationship. She'd forgotten to worry about what everyone else thought. She'd forgotten her perceived belief that she was responsible for everyone's expectations of her. She simply wanted him. _I told you to let yourself go and I'd catch you. It's damn good to know that you'll catch me too._ His smile widened.

Tears had made a trail down her face. Her eyes were red, a lighter shade of red than the lipstick that was smeared around her lips.

"You're here," she sniffled, still struggling to catch her breath.

"Yeah," his voice was deep with emotion. He used the pad of his thumb to wipe the lipstick from around her mouth.

"I'm sorry," she whimpered as her cry picked up steam, "I'm just _so_ sorry."

"You don't have to be," he whispered, just a breath away from her mouth. He smiled, "Love means never having to say you're sorry," he mumbled. It was his attempt to pull her from her current emotional state; quoting a movie line that she always made fun of.

"Rick—I am," she said, not acknowledging the joke that would've normally garnered him one of her famous eye rolls. Her lips were back on his. She ran her hands through is gelled hair, leaving it in a state of disarray. She sucked his bottom lip as the tears dropped softly.

It took him a few more minutes to break her out of the spell she was under. He backed up just enough to see her face clearly; and for her to see his. Her hand slipped into his jacket and rested on his chest.

"We're you and me. Forever. I promise that I'll never walk out on you again. If there's something to fight, then we'll fight it together," he professed, not taking his eyes off of hers.

They stared into the other's eyes; their irises were different colors but the whites of their eyes had an identical shade of light red streaks through them.

She nodded her agreement, unable to articulate her thoughts. She watched his face, his movements. He was trying hard to not allow his emotions to get the better of him. She giggled, coming back to reality, seeing the mess she made of his face.

He had red lipstick smeared on his lips, under his lips, and above his lips. There was also dark brown foundation mixed into his salt and pepper beard.

 _You are a mess...but still the most beautiful man I've ever seen,_ she smiled as he attempted to fix the makeup faux pa. He kept his eyes focused on her lips, intent on making her presentable and camera ready.

The bubble that they'd lived in for over a year had now burst. It was a lovely explosion that she was now ready to embrace it.

The couple was now aware of the throng of people that surrounded them; the clamor that covered them. He walked her gingerly away from the overly curious crowd….

"I love you so much, Rick," she whimpered her confession before they came to a complete stop.

He smiled and lifted her hand to his mouth; kissing softly…"I love you too, baby."

"When—when did you get here?" She asked, emotion not quite gone from her voice.

"Earlier today. I kinda ducked out on my kid—left him at his friend's house," he smiled, "Pretty sure he's watchin' us right now though," he paused, allowing his eyes to scan the hundreds of onlookers with cameras and phones pointed directly at them, "…along with the rest of the world."

She glanced around, "Good," she said and then leaned up and kissed his lips again. She breathed into this new real-time reality.

"C'mon baby…I wanna introduce you to my friends," she wiped away a few stray tears.

He reached for her hand, interlacing his fingers with hers. They quickly walked back to where her friends and co-stars stood; politely denying requests for interviews, ignoring all the hollers, and avoiding blinding camera flashes.

Their faces beamed as they watched the couple approach them.

"Everybody—I want to introduce you to my love—uh my boyfriend, significant other Rick," she stammered out, more than a little preclempt.

They all laughed in unison.

Letty strode closer to Rick, reached into her purse and pulled out a handkerchief. She handed it to the blushing newcomer.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, My Love, Boyfriend, and…" she paused for a moment.

"Significant other," the others shouted in accord and continued laughing at the disheveled couple.

Rick's face, which was initially red from emotion - and then red from arousal - was now red from embarrassment. He bowed his head and chuckled.

"It's nice to meet y'all too," he said.

Each man quickly approached Rick offering a handshake. He let go of Michonne's hand and returned the greetings. Michonne kept her face nuzzled in his chest. She didn't care in the least that they were all actively laughing more at her than with her.

"Good to meet you, Rick," they said in succession.

"Thank you," he said.

"We'll need to come up with a better description of you, Rick," Danny said, watching him clean the remnants of Michonne's makeup off his face.

"Until we come up with a better name, I'm gonna call you Michonne's boo," Letty said.

They all laughed and gave their own variations of Letty's new title for the discombobulated southern gentleman.

Rick glanced down at Michonne who was still nuzzled into his arm, "I think we're gonna settle on _husband_ ," Rick said.

Her head tilted up, "I like the sound of that," she whispered. He leaned down and kissed her again.

"The movie'll be starting soon," someone shouted, "Let's get in there."

They joined hands and walked into the theater together.

...The End...

Also, Their Beginning

* * *

Thank you again for reading :-) God Bless...


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